


The Arrangement

by TawnyOwl95



Series: Good Omens Bingo 2021 [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, And lying about it, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bugs, CW: for discussions on bones, Diseases, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Natural Scientist!Crowley, Osteoarchaeologist!Aziraphale, Pining while fucking, So much smut, Use Your Words, angel's don't lie?, rubbish first time (in the past and referenced), two giant nerds in their respective fields, wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29203731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are set up on a blind date as a joke by their respective housemates.They decide to get their own back and call everybody's bluff by *gasp* fake dating!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Bingo 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094969
Comments: 301
Kudos: 432
Collections: Good Omens Bingo 2021, Top Crowley Library





	1. Introduction and Methodology

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [NaroMoreau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaroMoreau/pseuds/NaroMoreau)  
> For the support and cheerleading.

The blind date was a joke. As soon as Aziraphale walked into the pub he knew it was a joke. 

_ You'll know him when you see him _ , Gabriel had said with a smirk that now made all too much sense. Aziraphale's stomach began to flutter like it was full of so many unruly butterflies. His skin went tight and cold. It had taken him so much mental effort to get this far, and he was already quite worn out. 

He couldn’t do this. 

The man propping up the bar, who met the description Aziraphale had finally winkled out of Gabriel, was all long legs and style. Slick and polished from his black boots to his carefully tousled hair. He rested on one elbow while chatting casually with the bartender. He was beautiful. 

He was everything Aziraphale most definitely wasn't. 

It was a joke. A joke that this person would even look at him twice. He should have known his housemates were motivated by something other than kindness. 

Crumbling a little bit with mortification, Aziraphale made up his mind to retreat slowly and then run for his life. He took a step backwards, straight into the couple that had entered the pub behind him. 

Aziraphale's umbrella smacked one of them right in the thigh. 

Angry words were exchanged, apologies offered and accepted. It all could have ended much worse, but escape was now impossible. 

The beautiful man at the bar had half turned, watching Aziraphale as he adjusted his coat. He waved his fingers in the air, dealing out a smile that was mostly sneer. His eyes were hidden by very expensive looking dark glasses. 

Aziraphale's heart slid down to his shoes. Still, he had his pride. About 60% of his pride, anyway. He couldn't run now. He squared his shoulders and marched to the bar. 

The beautiful man continued to lounge against the polished wood, still propped on one elbow and ankles crossed. 

"Hi, you must be Zira."

Typical Gabriel. The diminutive grated along everyone of Aziraphale's already trembling nerves. "I’m  _ Aziraphale _ ." 

The beautiful man’s head moved slightly, suggestive of giving Aziraphale a casual once over. Aziraphale resisted the urge to shrink into himself. He really should have left off his bow tie this morning. Even though he'd have felt terribly exposed at work without it. Even on a Friday.

"That’s wow. A lot of name,” said the beautiful man. “And you don’t like nicknames?" 

"Not _ that _ nickname." 

"Okay…" 

The beautiful man turned back to face the bar. Aziraphale fiddled with his umbrella. He'd been rude, hadn't he? Getting so uptight over his name. No need to take it out on his date who was probably as inconvenienced as Aziraphale was. "You must be Anthony?" Aziraphale tried to sound bright and was sure he ended up somewhere around insane. 

"Crowley. Don’t like my first name." Crowley looked at him again, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "So that's one thing we have in common already."

Was he teasing? Aziraphale began to panic. 

"So what are you drinking,  _ Aziraphale? _ " Crowley asked. 

"Oh!" This he could do. 'I’ll have a glass of cabernet, thank you, Crowley."

"Large glass?" 

The enigmatic lip quirk did seem more friendly than anything else now. Aziraphale _could_ do this. He could fly out of his comfort zone just for tonight. Stay for just one drink. 

Still, it would be a good idea to take help where it was offered. The pub was starting to fill up with the post work rush now and the buzz of conversation was getting louder, the space around them shrinking. "Yes, a large glass, please." 

Crowley waved at the bartender. "Bottle of the cabernet, please."

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" Aziraphale wanted to sound amused, possibly a little bit flirty. The words came out strangled and, damn it, hopeful. 

"What, you were going to stay for one out of politeness and then find a reason to scoot off?" Crowley smirked. 

The tips of Aziraphale's ears burned. "No, I…" 

"Don’t worry. I know we’re the butt of a joke here. Some comedian has obviously thought we are so terribly incompatible that it’d be funny to set us up. And I’ll help you drink it. I  _ like  _ this wine. So that's two things we have in common."

"Joke's on them,” Aziraphale said.

"Exactly."

"Do let me pay half though."

Aziraphale followed Crowley to a booth in the pub's dingiest corner, sliding in on the opposite side of the table. They made a show of pouring the wine and clinking glasses. Then there was much inspecting of the the ceiling and fiddling about with whatever was handy. 

“I’m really very sorry,” Aziraphale murmured into his wine glass.

Crowley jolted himself away from whatever secrets he was uncovering from a tear in the seat’s upholstery. “Not your fault. Why do they want to do this to you anyway?”

Aziraphale sighed. The truth was he didn’t know. He tried hard to tidy up his old cocoa mugs, and not to leave his books in the house’s communal spaces. The easiest way to do that was to avoid the communal spaces all together, and when he did venture out of his room he was now hypersensitive to whispered conversations stopping just before he walked through a door. He tried. He was friendly and polite. Helpful where he could be. The truth was they’d just all grown up since school and changed, and Aziraphale suspected he no longer quite fit in with the branding that the rest of the group were going for. 

There wasn’t really space for dowdy little him amidst all that high flying professional gloss and swagger. 

“I think maybe I’m too fussy and old fashioned. Possibly…” He waved his hand around his midsection. “You know. Not aesthetically pleasing.”

Crowley frowned as though he did know. And understood. "Aesthetics are subjective though, right?"

And that just made Aziraphale want to weep. He'd grown accustomed to everything except the occasional unexpected kindness. 

“What about you?” Aziraphale asked brightly, and stuck his nose back into his wine glass.

“Oh, I’m just a flash bastard.” Crowley grinned. “They're jealous, that’s all.”

The brashness to that was so brittle it was nearly heartbreaking. 

“Well, we can still have a lovely evening.” Aziraphale smiled.

“You think?” Crowley lifted his eyebrows. He still wore those glasses, which was perplexing and a tad irritating.

Aziraphale did very much not want to leave and admit failure though. He did not want to be faced with a lineup of faux concerned faces asking him how it had gone. 

“Why not?” Aziraphale shrugged. “There’s still most of the bottle left. If you want to stay?”

“Do you want to?”

“I think we’ve established that I’m not keen to go home,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Such a compliment!" Crowley flung his arm along the back of the seat." You slow down with those. I might start to get ideas.” 

“Oh, no!” Aziraphale put his free hand on the table between them in earnest. “That’s not what I meant. I’m terrible at this. Something to do with spending all day around dead people."

Crowley peered at Aziraphale over his glasses. Aziraphale caught a glimpse of expressive honey-dark eyes that were as odd as they were compelling. He could get quite lost in them. 

"Serial killer?" Crowley asked. "Assassin?" 

"I'm sorry?" Aziraphale blinked. 

"The job that involves spending time with dead bodies."

"Ah." Aziraphale sipped his wine and a light sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He needed to keep it short, concise. He needed to keep his hands still, his voice steady. "Not bodies as such. Bones. Osteoarchaeologist. Junior member of the team cataloguing a recently excavated plague pit in Oxfordshire." 

Crowley slapped both hands down on the table. Aziraphale nearly spilled his wine. 

"You're kidding?" 

Aziraphale shook his head. 

"The Tadfield site?" Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale nodded slowly. He was sure he was gaping like a freshly landed fish, but he hadn't been prepared to find himself in a parallel universe where beautiful men got excited about his job. Especially not after only two glasses of wine. 

"You're working at the BM!" Crowley said loud enough that the people at the next table looked over. 

"My masters dissertation was on…" Aziraphale filtered his dissertation title through a number of fine mesh nets. "... Broadly, a comparative study of the Tadfield site against the one found in East Smithfield in the eighties. My dissertation tutor did his masters with Professor Potts and they were happy to let me volunteer with the post excavation work, which led to a job. Right place, right time, right interests. I was lucky."

"More than that. Must be pretty special learning about someone who died five hundred years ago." Crowley grinned. 

It actually looked genuine. 

"Six hundred and seventy-two." Aziraphale said automatically. 

"Very specific of you." Crowley lifted an eyebrow. 

Aziraphale had never particularly thought of eyebrows as encouraging. This one though, as finely shaped as it was, had a gentleness to it that quite overrode Aziraphale’s sense of caution. He couldn't help himself. The facts began to overflow, starting with carbon dating tests and what they knew about the situation in the surrounding area. He went off on a tangent about types of diseases and wounds on the bones. In his enthusiasm he demanded Crowley get him a pen and sketched out the pattern of a blunt force trauma he'd found on a femur. 

Crowley listened. He asked questions, and then further questions that suggested that not only had he listened to the answers to the first question but understood enough to test the logic of them. In between the questions he rested his chin on his hand and watched with a smile that, thanks to the alcohol, Aziraphale had the courage to decide looked fond. 

It was intoxicating having the attention of such a beautiful, clever, funny man. 

Aziraphale was in very great danger of allowing himself to be smitten. It was that realisation that, after about an hour and a half, made him ask, "Sorry, I do blather on. What do you do?" 

Crowley lifted his head from his hand. He went very still, something of the rabbit caught in the headlights about him. He finished his wine, then topped up both their glasses. "Currently, I photograph fleas,” he told the table top. 

  
  


Crowley had approached this evening with cynicism and low expectations. Bea had seemed rather too delighted to be doing him a favour, and Hastur had snorted coffee out of his nose he was so amused by the whole thing. 

He knew it was a joke. 

Crowley had still wriggled into his tightest jeans, and spent a prolonged time fixing his hair, but  _ that  _ was because he'd fully intended to blow off whatever nightmare they'd set him up with as soon as possible and pull someone else at a club. 

Then he'd heard the chaos of Aziraphale entering the pub, and Crowley could see why Bea and Hastur would think him funny. 

Why they'd think it funny to set someone so unfashionable up with Crowley. Which really just rammed home how little his housemates knew about him. 

Clothes, after all, came off. 

Crowley resolved right there and then to at least make sure the bumbling, prickly little gent in the bow tie had a nice evening. Then Crowley would go on to a club and find someone who'd take him home and give him such a thorough seeing too that his emotions would be dead for a week. 

Someone who wasn't the sort of person Crowley thought he could fall head over heels for. 

It was the bones that were doing it. The more Aziraphale talked about bones the less stuffy and standoffish he became. The nervous flutters of his hands melted into confident, illustrative sweeps. The wariness in his eyes faded until they were full of nothing but wonder, and the clipped tones of his voice softened, slowed, drew Crowley in. 

Crowley was captivated. He knew far more about the residents of an Oxfordshire village in 1349 then they'd probably be comfortable with. Including which of them had contracted syphilis, and the likelihood of who was chiefly responsible. 

Then Aziraphale laughed, his nerves snapping back into place. "What do you do?" 

Crowley blinked behind his glasses. Aziraphale took a gulp of wine looking thoroughly embarrassed. He was waiting for an answer though. Crowley topped up both their glasses. "Currently, I photograph fleas," he said with resignation. 

"Fleas?" Aziraphale frowned, adorable little nose wrinkling. 

And this was it. The moment where Crowley would definitely find out if he was going on to a club to pull or not. 

"Dressed as a mariachi band by Mexican nuns. Circa 1905." He tried for a suave smile but was sure he just looked lecherous. 

Aziraphale blinked at him politely, but a little bit owlishly. Realisation dawned slowly on his face. "Oh, you're one of the curators putting the Natural History's insect collection online! I read about that!" 

Crowley couldn't help himself. Afterwards he'd blame the shock of not having to explain his job, or have a new date run away screaming. He shot finger guns across the table at Aziraphale. 

To Aziraphale's credit, he wasn't freaked out by that either. 

"Why fleas?" he asked. 

Crowley tried to keep his cool. No point being too excited in public. "Yeah. Originally got into the life sciences for the Hope the Whales and the Guy the Gorillas of this world, but then I read this article about Robert Hooke and the detail of the drawings he did. Well, now I'm a convert. Fascinating little critters are siphonapteras. Really hardy too." 

"More than cockroaches?" 

And wasn't there just a glimmer of a bastard smile lurking at the corner of Aziraphale's mouth as he said that? Just a little bit of a challenge. There was also a slither of appreciation in his eyes as they swept over Crowley. 

Fine. Turnabout was fair play, after all. "Right," Crowley said good naturedly. "Let me tell you a thing about the durability of fleas…if you're lucky, I may even tell you about the latest research on how they spread the Black Death." 

Aziraphale leaned forward on his crossed arms. His eyes actually lit up. Fuck, like twin disco balls all full of attention. Like he was suddenly made of eyes. 

Crowley reminded himself how resilient his heart was. He knew he was handsome enough, if it was dark, and he could be good company for an evening, if the music was loud. Not the sort of person people wanted for the long haul though. He was too snarky, too fast, too curious, too much. 

He just needed to remember that, and this would be fine. 

Heart safely locked up, Crowley started to speak and Aziraphale appeared fascinated, and not at all like he wanted to itch his own skin off when Crowley started detailing how many eggs a female flea could lay in a day. Aziraphale's eyes did flick to the neighbouring table after about half an hour, but not as though he was begging a stranger for help. It was more wistful, with just a hint of desire in it. Crowley turned his head just as the plate of nachos was delivered. 

"Are you hungry?" he asked. 

"Oh no," Aziraphale said quickly. "I shouldn't."

"It's fine. Honestly, I'm impressed you want food after I've been talking about faeces and parasites for the last thirty minutes."

Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. Crowley imagined it was rather similar to the expression he had on his own face. 

"As my housemates will no doubt tell you, it takes rather a lot to put me off food." Aziraphale sipped his wine, the enthusiasm of a few moments ago bleeding away. 

"I'm hungry." Crowley was quite ready to thump Aziraphale's housemates. He was also jealous of the way Aziraphale had just ogled a plate of nachos. 

The glimmer of an idea took form in Crowley's brain. 

It wasn't necessarily a good idea, but his pleasant tipsiness, along with slowly increasing arousal for the man opposite him, made him say, "I was thinking of something sweet though."

"Sweet?" Aziraphale frowned, and wasn't he just the cutest thing? With his lips starting to darken from the wine and his eyes just slightly glazed. 

"Revenge!" Crowley grinned. 

“Revenge?”

“Yeah," Crowley rested his forearms on the table, mirroring Aziraphale." So how would you like to take me home tonight? To prove your arsehole flatmates wrong about us?”

“You’d do that?” Aziraphale's frown deepened. Less cute now and more wary. 

It cut through Crowley's optimism like a scalpel. 

“Prove mine wrong too, wouldn’t it?” he said quickly. "We'd be helping each other."

Aziraphale sat back slightly, hands twisting his wine glass stem. 

Crowley was losing him. He compensated by throwing more words out there, just in case any of them resonated." And if you liked, I could make it worth your while?"

Aziraphale's fingers stilled. He directed the full force of his worried eyebrows at Crowley.

"You cannot actually be suggesting what I infer you are implying," he breathed like a scandalised matron. He leaned in closer though. Expectant. 

"We could make it convincing, is what I'm saying." Crowley said desperately. 

The silence stretched, and just when Crowley was about to laugh and yell  _ gotcha,  _ Aziraphale leaned in just a little bit closer and said, “How convincing?”

Crowley bit down on the very uncool smile about to burst onto his face. "I'm going to order us some more wine and some of those nachos and we can decide together, aye?" 

  
  
  
  


This was not the most ridiculous thing Aziraphale had ever done. Not nearly as ridiculous as miscatologuing a roman gladius, or getting himself arrested over crepes. 

There was a pleasant tingling in his blood now. A heady mixture of excitement and trepidation. Of course, that could just be the wine happily impairing his judgement. 

Fuck it all. Tonight was the night. 

And Crowley was desperately gorgeous. And  _ interesting. _ It could all have gone much worse, really. 

“Here we are!” Aziraphale unlocked the door of the dismal Victorian terrace he shared with four other people. He half turned to look back at Crowley. “Come in.”

“Ready to make it convincing?” Crowley’s voice was rough by Aziraphale's ear. 

“Oh, yes…” 

The rest of Aziraphale's sentence was lost against Crowley’s lips. All Aziraphale’s higher functions ground to a halt. He was distantly aware of his feet moving, stumbling slightly on the step, but his awareness was too taken up with Crowley's mouth on his. Crowley kissed just as confidently and smoothly as he looked. And his hands! Before Aziraphale's back collided with the hallway coat rack, one side of his shirt was untucked, his hair was on end and Crowley had his bow tie undone. 

Aziraphale's pulse thudded wildly. He hung on to Crowley's lapels and went with it because he couldn't remember the last time he'd been kissed so thoroughly. Probably because he'd never been kissed so thoroughly. 

"Oh, seriously!" Michael's voice cut through Aziraphale's bliss. 

He turned his head to apologise but all that came out was a gasp as Crowley's teeth grazed his neck. 

"Gabe, you need to see this," Michael rolled her eyes. 

Gabriel stuck his head into the hallway. "Urgh, I really don't. Take it upstairs, sunshine."

"Pleasure." Crowley hooked his fingers in the front of Aziraphale's shirt and began dragging him upstairs. 

Aziraphale glanced back in time to see the door to the kitchen slam as his housemates disappeared. 

"Which room's yours?" Crowley paused on the landing. 

"Ah, just here." Aziraphale fumbled with his bedroom door, getting it open on the third try. His lips tingled and his knees quivered. 

Crowley stepped in close, slotting their mouths back together. 

Aziraphale whimpered pathetically, his whole being swaying forward, lips parting, begging for more. 

One of Crowley's hands tangled in his hair. The other pinched the end of Aziraphale's bow tie, pulling it free of his collar. It was draped over the door handle, then Crowley hustled Aziraphale into his room and slammed the door behind them. 

One of Aziraphale's collar points pressed against his chin as Crowley pushed him back against the bedroom door. 

Aziraphale gasped. 

"You changed your mind? We can stop." Crowley drew back, his hands sliding away from Aziraphale's waist. He was still close enough that Aziraphale could feel his body heat, see the damp sheen of saliva on his lips. 

Aziraphale swallowed. He'd felt a lot surer of himself discussing this in the pub. 

Crowley tilted his head, eyebrow lifting. "I mean it."

Aziraphale's whole body pulsed with the need to be touched, and to touch. "I don't want to stop," he said quietly. 

"Sure?" 

Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. His moment of panic bled away leaving him rather Zen. This was perfect. It was going to be perfect. 

"Me neither." Crowley smiled softly. "You're a good kisser." 

"Oh, I'm…" Aziraphale glanced down. 

Crowley cupped his chin, tilting his face back up. "You are. Besides we do still have an audience, after all.” 

On top of the towering bookcase, crammed full of books and bric-a-brac, sat a skull in an old black hat. Aziraphale barely noticed either of them anymore. 

"That's Yorrick. Don't mind him."

"What did you do with the rest of the body?" Crowley asked. 

"He's just a cast. Late Medieval, from Denmark…" 

"Hence, Yorrick."

"Yes!" Aziraphale was far too excited that Crowley got it. 

Then Crowley dipped his head and the world went fuzzy at the edges. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley's waist and let any latent worry he had sink into the alcohol still thrumming in his blood. 

Crowley was delicious, and this wasn't real so Aziraphale didn't have to be real either. 

This was his fantasy wasn't it? No strings, no recriminations. No awkward or embarrassing conversations. 

Aziraphale ran his palms up Crowley's chest, pushing beneath his jacket to get it off his shoulders, just like the self-assured lover he was in his fantasies. 

Crowley helped to shrug the jacket off and then returned his attention to undoing Aziraphale's shirt buttons. 

The next few minutes were a heady blur of fabric sliding over skin, clothes giving way to the heat of open mouths and the hungry grasp of fingers. 

Aziraphale managed not to think, managed not to feel anything other than lust until he was stripped down to his boxers and socks. He was breathless with kissing, with being kissed and touched with desire. 

Crowley's cock pressed insistently against Aziraphale's thigh as the backs of Aziraphale's knees hit the bed. Crowley steadied him, one hand on Aziraphale's upper arm, the other gripping his arse. Their hips ground together and the friction of their erections meeting made Aziraphale whine deep in his throat. 

Crowley spun him round, bending him forward over the bed. Oh lord, Aziraphale really should have fixed the covers before he left this evening. Hung up the half a dozen shirts he'd dismissed as suitable for a blind date before leaving for work this morning. 

He'd never imagined the shirt he'd finally chosen would have ended up crumpled over his desk chair with the other rejects. 

He was actually doing this. Good lord. 

Crowley kissed Aziraphale's spine, hooking his thumbs in the elastic of Aziraphale's boxers and easing them down. 

Crowley's voice penetrated Aziraphale's worries over neatness. "... Gorgeous. Biteable thighs. Can I fuck you?" 

Aziraphale sucked in his breath. His stomach swooped with desire and fear. 

"Hey?" Crowley stroked Aziraphale's back. "You done this before?" 

Aziraphale made himself relax. He had. He'd fooled around at university, hand jobs, mostly, and he'd done  _ that _ by himself, with his fingers, with toys. 

He was twenty-three, after all, and it wasn't a big deal. 

Aziraphale glanced back at Crowley over his shoulder and managed, "Have  _ you _ ?" with enough outrage that Crowley laughed. 

"Get up on the bed then." He gave Aziraphale's now naked arse a playful slap. The pop of pain made his nerves spark to attention as he crawled onto the bed. "I have lube," Aziraphale said because that indicated that yes, he had done this before and, what was more, he was prepared to do it again, didn't it? 

"And I have the condom. Perfect match, aren't we?" Crowley grinned although the suaveness of it was ruined by him wriggling the rest of the way out of his tight leather trousers, hopping slightly as he yanked them off his ankles. 

Aziraphale smiled as Crowley climbed onto the bed and took the bottle of lube from his hand, leaning in to share another brain melting kiss. 

Then Aziraphale was balanced on one arm, his other hand gripping the headboard. The cap of the bottle popped open. Aziraphale closed his eyes as Crowley's warm, slick finger pressed against his hole. He breathed through the first, familiar sting and pushed back slightly, shifting his knees. 

"You OK?" 

"Hmm hmm."

He was OK. Very much OK. Aziraphale let go of the headboard so he could stroke his own cock, keeping himself hard as Crowley eased him open. Crowley took more time over it than Aziraphale normally did, and it was excruciatingly good. Aziraphale rocked backwards, shifting position until the angle was just right. He cried out. 

"Just there, huh?" Crowley asked, and did it again. 

Aziraphale keened some kind of response. 

"You should see yourself," Crowley said. "Open and willing. Making those noises."

Aziraphale managed another incoherent noise in response. 

"You ready for me?" Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale nodded. "Yes," he managed. 

He'd thought he was, but the first press of Crowley against him knocked the breath from Aziraphale's lungs. He stroked himself with more determination, just how he liked it. Crowley reached around, his slick hand taking the place of Aziraphale's. That was better. One less thing to think about and allowing more headspace to just feel. Aziraphale fisted the sheets, stretched open and surrounded as Crowley entered him fully. Aziraphale was glad his face couldn't be seen, being taken like this felt filthy and illicit in the absolute best way. As Crowley bottomed out the balance of pleasure and pain tipped further towards pleasure so when Crowley asked, "You still with me?" Aziraphale could say 'yes' without lying. 

Aziraphale, pushed back, changing the angle and  _ oh fuck yes, there _ . 

He must have said it aloud because Crowley did it again, and again. Aziraphale thrust backwards, fucking himself on Crowley's cock and into his hand. 

Crowley bent forward, his fringe tickling Aziraphale's shoulders as they picked up speed, the bed creaking. Aziraphale braced one hand on the headboard again, each breath a gasp of encouragement. The mattress creaked with each thrust, skin slapping lewdly. Aziraphale was wanton as he allowed himself to be fucked. And by someone who liked him and his body with no exceptions or clarifications. Crowley babbled a steady string of obscenities against Aziraphale's flesh. "You feel so good, and you take my cock so well. Look at you. The gorgeous fucking noises you make."

Crowley let go off Aziraphale's hip and gripped his hair. It was like something straight out of Aziraphale's dirtiest dreams. He came with a cry, limbs shaking. 

Crowley pulled out, flopping on to his back. He worked his own cock, gazing up at Aziraphale's face. "Noises you make," he groaned. "Sang for me like a fucking angel."

Aziraphale laughed at the ridiculousness of that. He dropped on to his belly so he could kiss the grin from Crowley's face, and swallow down his moan as he came. 

They lay on their backs breathing quietly. Aziraphale wasn't entirely sure of the protocol. As explicit and as detailed as his late night imaginings were he'd normally wanked himself into a stupor and fallen asleep before confronting the reality of what might happen next. 

He worried his lip and looked at the old water mark on the ceiling above him. 

The bed creaked as Crowley sat up, reaching for his trousers. 

"Stay if you like. It's late," Aziraphale said. 

Crowley half turned. "Sure?" 

When had he taken his glasses off? Aziraphale blinked at his honey-gold eyes, and had the unhelpful thought that he could very easily fall in love with them. Ridiculous, it was just afterglow, wasn't it? 

"More convincing that this wasn't just a hook up," Aziraphale decided. "I have a spare toothbrush."

"Do this a lot, do you?" Crowley smirked. 

"For me. When my old one gives up. I bought a four pack because it's cheaper that way."

"Of course you'd think like that."

Aziraphale gazed back at the ceiling, trying not to look as hurt as he felt. 

"I meant with the long term strategic planning. Good thing, isn't it?" Crowley clarified gently. 

"If you say so."

"Well, it means I'm not waiting about for a night bus, doesn't it?" Crowley settled back on to the bed. "Yeah, thanks. I'll stay."


	2. Review of Literature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go back to Crowley's flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all. You're lovely. And especially Naro for helping me out.
> 
> Also, I don't know if this should be properly tagged, but when they do go back to Crowley's Bea does hear them through the walls and is not happy about it.

Crowley was not one for dealing with the morning after. He'd chew his own arm off rather than spend the night trapped in someone else's bed. 

Which had, of course, been why he'd suggested going back to Aziraphale's. It was far easier to escape someone else's bed than your own. Except that he hadn't felt the need to escape last night. 

It was all objectively agreed. There were no expectations to worry about. 

Crowley had lucked out by managing a hook up with a cute, clever man, that might turn into more casual hook ups for appearances sake. There were no hearts involved. 

It was a perfect short term arrangement and the trapped, itchy feeling Crowley normally got under his skin when asked to stay was absent. And it had been late, and cold, with a glaze of icy rain over the dark pavement. 

He'd stayed, and woke up with a headache and a nose full of downy curls. 

They smelt good. Like Parma Violets. Crowley nuzzled, limbs weaving tighter around the pleasant armful of a body he was pressed against. His cock began to wake up too, twitching in response to the pressure of a now familiar buttock. 

"Crowley?" A bleary voice, not entirely awake itself, mumbled. 

Crowley's eyes snapped open. His senses ramped into overdrive, brain scrabbling to process everything being thrown at it. 

"Shit!" Crowley launched himself backwards and toppled off the edge of the bed. 

His arse hit the floor with a crack, hand knocking over a half drunk glass of water

Damn it. This was why he never stayed over. It was awkward and embarrassing for everyone, but especially him. 

"Crowley!?" 

Aziraphale twisted in the bed, pulling the duvet demurely up to his chest despite the flannel pyjama bottoms and well worn Myst t-shirt. 

"Sorry!" Crowley gestured at the puddle of water he was now sitting in. 

"No bother." Aziraphale climbed out of bed. He seized a towel from a pile that was capsizing against the wardrobe and began to mop the floor with it. 

Clad only in soggy boxers, Crowley stepped delicately out of the way. He rescued his trousers from the heap they'd fallen into last night and then, overcome by a fit of modesty, turned his back to strip off his pants and pull his trousers on. 

He was just doing up the flies, careful not to catch anything, when Aziraphale said, "Did you sleep alright?" 

"Yeah, thanks." A little too well and now

Crowley's current plan was to go home and have a wank in the shower over soft backsides and the scent of retro sweets. 

And Aziraphale on his knees, hair a messy poof of white, staring up at him in fresh faced wonder. 

Shit. 

A number of things Crowley had been aware of last night, but too tipsy and horny to really process clicked into place. Something about Aziraphale's hesitancy at certain points in the evening, a tone of voice here and there when they were discussing boundaries. 

No. Crowley was being paranoid. Who would want to have their first time with a stranger they'd just met in a pub? 

Which sent Crowley into embarrassing, gut wrenching memories of his first time and the absolute horror that he may have made Aziraphale's equally awful. 

Apparently unencumbered by such painful introspection, Aziraphale chatted on, "When would you like me to return the favour? With your housemates."

"I feel like I should take you to dinner first." Crowley stalled and immediately regretted it when Aziraphale's cheeks flushed. 

"For authenticities sake." Crowley clarified. 

"Of course." Aziraphale lifted his chin. 

Crowley wanted him to get off the floor. Having him kneeling there all bed-warm and mussed was doing things to him. Things his trousers were really too tight to hide. 

"So, where do you want to go?" Crowley asked while pulling on his t-shirt. Useful excuse for angling his hips back to the wall, that. 

Aziraphale's eyes did the disco ball thing again and he clasped his hands together like a penitent at mass, begging for forgiveness. 

Crowley ruthlessly ignored all the inappropriate thoughts his brain did with that image. He bit his lip just before the whimper escaped. 

"There's this little sushi place in Soho…" Aziraphale said. 

"Never had sushi."

"Oh, well let me tempt you!" Aziraphale blushed, looked away, and, thank fuck, got off the floor. 

"Text me the details, yeah?" Crowley slung on his jacket. The trapped, itchy feeling was clawing at the inside of his skin. Damn it, this was the perfect short term arrangement! He was not fucking it up with something as irritating as feelings. 

"I don't have your number," Aziraphale told the floor, as though asking for a phone number was the filthiest thing in the world. 

Crowley wanted to insist that he did have it and flee the room with the tatters of his dignity. They'd been set up through Michael and Ligur though. Probably in case they'd got in touch before last night and ruined the joke. "Give me your phone." Crowley held out his hand impatiently. 

Aziraphale produced an old brick of a thing from the clutter on his bedside table. 

Crowley entered his number into it without too much cursing. It was only as he handed it back, Crowley realised that in his desperation to get gone he'd given the possible virgin he'd just deflowered his number. 

The smile he got from Aziraphale was accompanied by such a breathless 'thank you' that Crowley was ready to dissolve.

There was really no hiding from his stupid, inconvenient emotions now. 

Shit. 

"Whatever. Ciao," Crowley grumbled and ran. 

That had been Saturday morning. It was now Sunday afternoon. Crowley leaned back in his chair, one foot up on the desk, and gazed at the wisps of cloud scudding across the grey sky. Aziraphale still hadn't texted him the details of their next date. Crowley did not like how this was starting to make him worry. 

There was no reason to worry. Not like they were actually dating. It just would have been nice to bring Aziraphale home, that was all. Just to put Bea in her place. She'd laughed when he'd arrived back on Saturday morning in Friday night's clothes and had failed to believe a word of it. 

" _No way. From what Michael said, the bone doctor would never unbutton enough."_

_"You underestimate my charms."_

_"Sure, flea_ boy."

It was now a matter of honour. It was nothing to do with well… The fact that in the bedroom Crowley liked to please, and Aziraphale had made it clear, very loudly, that he had been rather pleased. 

That was something. Wasn't it? 

Although now Crowley was doubting even that. 

Perhaps, now Aziraphale was sober, he'd realised what a bad idea it was to lose your virginity to an opportunistic bastard you'd been set up with on a blind date as a cruel joke. 

Shit. 

Crowley just wanted to know that Aziraphale was alright. He remembered the feeling of wanting to have sex, but not really being ready. Of being curious, but not that curious. Of wanting to say no, but being weak with flattery and guilt because he'd gone so far already. Of wanting to be liked. Not that they did like you after they'd got what they wanted, of course. 

Crowley would not go back to secondary school for the world. 

He ran his hands over his face and through his hair, and back again. 

On his bed, his phone pinged. 

Heart lodged in his throat, Crowley performed contortions to reach it. He and the chair hit the floor. Bea screamed obscenities from the next room as Crowley dragged himself over the carpet and swiped at his phone screen. 

_Crowley? Is that you?_ Asked an unknown number. Crowley could practically hear the precision of the vowels. 

_No. It's a bloody Aardvark_. Crowley's fingers shook in their haste to type back. His brain, unfortunately, wasn't as fast and it was only when the speech box popped up in his message feed he realised what a dick he sounded. 

He crawled onto his bed, relieved to see the dots that indicated Aziraphale was typing. They went on for a while, then stopped. 

Crowley glared at his phone. 

The dots returned. 

_Apologies if this isn't Crowley. I suspect I may have been given the wrong number. Sorry to inconvenience._

Shit. Shitshitshit. Aziraphale thought he'd do that? Well, he had done that, but only when he was very drunk and the people pawing him hadn't taken no for an answer. 

_It's Crowley!_

This was followed by another extended pause. Then, 

_Oh. Splendid. Are you doing anything on_ _Friday?_

Crowley had zero plans. Still. 

_Nothing I can't get out of._

_I don't want to mess up any former arrangements you might have._

_I'll be free_. 

He typed _angel_ on the end of that, but had the presence of mind to delete it before sending. 

The dots spent a long time flickering before an address appeared followed by, _Would 7pm suit?_

 _7.30_? Crowley sent back, on principle. 

_Perfect_. 

And that was all. Crowley stared at his phone trying to think of a way to respond without being weird or needy. 

Crowley returned to this quandary on and off for the next four days. On Thursday night he waged a bloody and inner conflict with himself over whether or not to send a message to confirm the details. 

Aziraphale didn't send him anything more. 

But why would he? This was just a mutually beneficial arrangement, wasn't it? 

It made no sense to be this nervous on a second date. Especially when said date was not really a date, and getting laid was pretty much a sure thing at the end of it. 

Crowley's disobedient stomach still knotted with apprehension. 

He wanted to get his hands on Aziraphale again. Wanted to lay him down and be gentler, calmer this time. Except there was all sorts of baggage tied up in that. Crowley spent a stupidly long time in the work bathroom getting ready. Such a long time, that he had to jog to the tube station. 

As he sauntered down Greek Street with about thirty seconds to spare, Crowley caught sight of Aziraphale's white hair and pale coat immediately. He was the only beige thing in a two mile radius. 

Aziraphale saw him at exactly the same time and waved, bouncing on the balls of his feet and a beam lighting up his face. 

Damn. He was as cute as Crowley imagined. That was inconvenient. He put on his most debonair smile and added a touch more sway to his hips. 

"Aziraphale, hi." Just be cool Crowley told himself and it would be fine. 

"Crowley! Lovely to see you."

Their smiles got stuck. Aziraphale's eyes locked with his. The moment stretched. 

Should they kiss? A peck on the cheek at least? Even if there was no one watching? Crowley was about to just go for it when Aziraphale hopped back, hands of anxiety gesturing at the restaurant. "Shall we?" 

"Yep. Sure."

And Aziraphale held the door open for him which was ridiculously chivalrous, and even more ridiculously made Crowley's pulse flutter. 

It left him so off kilter that he had to ask the restaurant's hostess to repeat herself. She smiled kindly and did. 

No. It wasn't his brain imploding, she was speaking Japanese. "Ah…?" Crowley glanced behind him. 

Aziraphale put a gentle hand on Crowley's waist to move him out of the way. That threw Crowley's brain back into a tailspin. Aziraphale speaking to the hostess in Japanese sent it crashing into the channel with its wings ablaze. 

Oh, that was hot. Not just that Aziraphale spoke Japanese, anyone could pick up a couple of phrases, surely? The confidence with which he'd done it though, the fact he and the hostess were clearly sharing a joke, made Crowley's knees go spongy. Aziraphale slipped past Crowley, the fingers of the hand that, blimey, was still on the small of his back, brushing Crowley's sleeve and his head tilting in a follow me gesture. 

Crowley followed. It was easier than trying to think. 

They sat at the bar facing the kitchen. Crowley was enamoured, but not surprised when the chef came over and greeted Aziraphale by name. Aziraphale spoke back softly and politely, and he made the chef laugh. 

The chef glanced at Crowley and said something else. 

The very tops of Aziraphale's ears went pink. He shot off a few sentences and smiled tentatively. 

The chef chuckled and retreated back into the steamy heat of the kitchen. 

Crowley turned so he could whisper in Aziraphale's ear, catching another subtle hint of Parma Violets. "You told him we were dating."

Aziraphale started, head turning so he could look at Crowley, delight fighting with his blush. "You speak Japanese, you wiley thing?" 

"I speak body language."

"Oh." Aziraphale turned away, fiddling with his napkin. "Yes, I hope you don't mind. It was easier than the truth, and my Japanese isn't that good. Besides, the fewer people in on the secret the better, don't you think?"

"Chef going running to your housemates, is he?" 

The napkin nearly tore. 

"I don't mind." Crowley didn't. And he felt he had a duty of care to the napkin. He took it from Aziraphale's hands and put it back on the bar. "Besides, it means I get to do this." Crowley shifted closer, eyes holding Aziraphale's so he had a chance to back out. 

Aziraphale took a sharp breath, but nodded almost imperceptibly. 

Crowley kissed his cheek, lingering just as long as he could without it being too weird.

He sat back." OK?" 

"Useful to practise." Aziraphale's voice was high. "What would you like to eat?" "How about you order for both of us?" 

The absolute pleasure in Aziraphale's smile nearly made Crowley's heart burst. 

While Aziraphale had a furious conversation with the chef, Crowley wondered exactly what sort of arseholes Aziraphale had been out with before, if this sort of treatment was so surprising and unexpected. And he would be dating. He wasn't the sort for casual flings. 

Which was, more or less, what Crowley had talked him into. For his first time. 

Any triumphant Crowley had about getting Aziraphale flustered over a kiss bled away. Aziraphale may have agreed, but it had been Crowley's idea. Crowley who'd forced the issue. 

"Are you alright?" Aziraphale's hand fluttered over Crowley's sleeve. 

"Yep. Course." He slung an arm over the back of his chair and gave Aziraphale a deliberate once over. "Here with an absolute, angel, aren't I?" 

Aziraphale's ears went pink again, his lips parting to deny it. Crowley noted the exact moment Aziraphale remembered what Crowley had said to him last Friday. 

_Sang for me like a fucking angel._

Another, far darker blush spread over Aziraphale's cheeks. He made a little huff of protest and went back to abusing the napkin. 

Crowley knew he was being a dick. Well, he was being himself and what he was was a dick. Especially when he felt cornered. It helped though to know that, at the very least, Aziraphale was at least physically attracted to him. It made Crowley feel like he still had some control, regardless of what his desperate heart told him. 

The chef came over with a cheerful smile and put down a clay dish full of what looked like fat runner beans. 

Crowley put his hand over Aziraphale's, rescuing the napkin again. "Tell me about these," he said. 

Aziraphale glanced up at him, Are you sure? Plastered all over his face. 

Crowley nodded. 

"Oh, well." Aziraphale sat up straighter with a happy little wiggle. "Now, these are edamame…" 

Crowley leaned back, sipping sake and letting Aziraphale describe each dish, wandering off on tangents about history and preparation, until he'd settled into that relaxed state where he seemed almost comfortable in himself. He still regularly looked up at Crowley for confirmation that it wasn't too much and every time Crowley smiled that it wasn't. 

Then Aziraphale showed him how to hold chopsticks. Crowley had never considered himself to be aroused by hands before. They were good for touching and grabbing, obviously, but the sureness with which Aziraphale positioned his fingers left an excited buzz on Crowley's skin. 

It should have been another warning klaxon, but he was too pleasure-drunk on the sweep of Aziraphale's thumb over his wrist to heed it. 

The streets were busy when they left the restaurant, the sky overcast with heavy rain clouds. The air was fresh in Crowley's lungs and kept his hands firmly in his pockets in case they decided to wander into Aziraphale's hair and make a mess. 

There would be stroking, ruffling, and, Satan spare his soul, carding. 

"That was lovely." Aziraphale glanced up at him, then looked away, biting down on his smile. 

"It was." It was. And now he was out in the cool night air Crowley tried not to trust the wash of contentment settling over him. 

It didn't mean anything. It would only be him feeling it. 

"Shall we head back to yours then?" Aziraphale asked. "To return the favour?" He prompted after a moment of Crowley's silence. "If you still want to?" 

Oh, yes, the arrangement. Revenge with no strings for either of them, which had seemed like such a good idea at the time. 

Crowley's ideas always did have a way of coming back to torment him. 

"Do you still want to?" Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale managed to nod while ducking his head. 

And damn it, Crowley wanted too. Wanted to exist in the fantasy a moment longer and deal with the pain later. He had practice at that. Aziraphale held out his hand, and, after a moment, Crowley took it. 

They were silent though, more or less, on the tube ride to Crowley's flat which was at the top of a converted townhouse. They got through the main door without incident. 

When Crowley unlocked the door to the flat, his nerves were fluttering and he was about to admit… He didn't even know what, when Aziraphale went up on his toes and wrapped his arms around Crowley's neck and kissed him. 

Crowley put one hand out to balance himself against the door frame. The other, disobedient set of fingers, finally got it's wish of touching Aziraphale's hair. 

The little whimper Aziraphale made was only a hint of what had happened last week when Crowley had pulled his hair. It was enough to shake all annoying thoughts from his head. Crowley let go of the door frame so he could drag Aziraphale flush against him. They stumbled over the threshold, slipping on the mail still on the mat and crashing into the wall. 

A stress ball bounced off Crowley's head. "Take your latest floozy to your bedroom," Bea shouted. 

"This is my boyfriend," Crowley shouted back. 

Bea gave them both a very unimpressed glare. "Don't care if it's the archangel fucking Gabriel. Bedroom!"

"Will do." Aziraphale hooked his fingers in Crowley's belt loops and began dragging him down the corridor. 

Crowley resisted. "Just here, actually." He popped open the door. 

"Splendid." Aziraphale placed his hands on Crowley's chest and shoved him into the room. He stepped in quickly after, pulled the scarf that Crowley had agonised over wearing from around his neck and looped it round the doorknob. "Lovely to meet you," Aziraphale called out, presumably to a dumbstruck Bea, then shut the door. 

He turned to face Crowley with a grin that was so delightfully impish, that Crowley just had to kiss him again. 

Oh, this was dangerous. It was too easy, too bloody good. Then Aziraphale pushed him gently away. His eyes had drifted towards the bed. He looked thoroughly astonished. "Good lord, is that…?"

"Bentley," Crowley said without looking and wished he'd taken the thing down. 

"You named it?" Aziraphale stepped up to the poster of the giant flea that was plastered above Crowley's bed. He fumbled in his pockets and, despite the fact that Crowley had thought he couldn't get any cuter, put a pair of spectacles on his nose. "Oh! But this is the Robert Hooke drawing!" 

Crowley's heart made a valiant effort not to beat wildly and failed. Aziraphale had remembered. He must have looked it up. And he was toeing off his shoes, kneeling on Crowley's bed so he could get a closer look. 

When was the last time Crowley had dared have someone in his bed? The thought made him lightheaded. 

"Look at the detail," Aziraphale whispered. 

"Yeah." Crowley dared kneel on the bed next to him. "Revolution in artwork and using a seventeenth century microscope too." 

"He's beautiful. I trust he's the only flea in this room?" Aziraphale asked. 

"Sure," Crowley said, and very deliberately scratched his head. 

Aziraphale clapped his hands, a delighted laugh escaping from him. 

Crowley grinned. His heart soared, and then began to fall. He wanted to do unspeakable things to Aziraphale but his conscience was battling against him. He had to know. "Look, Aziraphale…" 

Aziraphale glanced at him, all joy gone from his face and his shoulders tensed. 

"The other night." Crowley swallowed. It was hard to think while being looked at with such a weary resignation. He never had been able to leave a question unanswered though. "Had you done that before?" 

Aziraphale took off his glasses. Probably to enable him to blink more. "Why are you asking?"

"Curious. How many times?"

"Well, I wasn't putting notches on my bed post." Aziraphale sat down, his feet back on the floor. 

"How many people then?" Crowley wriggled round to sit next to him. 

"Oh… Well, there was… Oodles." Aziraphale stared determinedly at the opposite wall. 

"Oodles?" Really? 

"Hmmm." Aziraphale peeked up at him, his smile quick and weak. His fingers twisted together in his lap. 

"Aw shit! Why didn't you say anything?" Crowley dragged a hand through his hair. 

"It wasn't a big deal." Aziraphale's voice rose defensively. 

"Not a big deal!" Crowley reached for him. 

"No." Aziraphale pulled away with a stubborn pout. 

Crowley didn't know whether he wanted to hold him or shake him. 

"If I'd know I'd have…" Crowley began. 

"What? What would you have done differently?" Aziraphale folded his arms. 

"Well…" Crowley didn't know. Would he have walked away? Been slower? Actually been tempted to ask Aziraphale out properly? His skin went clammy at the thought. 

"Urgh! You wouldn't have done me!" Aziraphale cried. 

"Oh, come on!" 

"Or suggested the arrangement," Aziraphale persisted. 

"Look, it's supposed to be…" Crowley began, but that slid razor sharp against his own hurt. "Special."

"Really? According to whom? I didn't need a roaring fire or rose petals. I just wanted to… I just wanted to do something normal." Aziraphale's voice shook a bit. "I just wanted to have a normal hookup with a guy I fancied and not feel like a complete loser." Aziraphale got off the bed. "I can go if you want."

There it was. Anthony J. Crowley. Casual hook up. Although hadn't that been what Crowley had been convinced he wanted too? Or was that just what he'd always thought he deserved? 

His silence made Aziraphale's lip wobble, just a bit. "Alright." He grabbed his shoes. "I'm leaving. Just for the record though, the arrangement wouldn't have changed. I'm not expecting anything else just because you were my first and you needn't worry that I'm going to fall madly in love with you or anything ridiculous."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Crowley muttered. And oh bugger, it was too late for his overcooked heart wasn't it? Burned and blistered as it was. "I don't want you to go." Crowley clambered off the bed, wrapping Aziraphale in his arms. "I'm just sorry. If I pushed you into anything."

"You didn't. Why would you think that? We discussed it. It was perfect." Aziraphale muttered into Crowley's chest. "You were perfect. You were very, very nice. You're being nice now." Aziraphale pulled away slightly so he could look at Crowley's face. 

"Not nice," Crowley grumbled. 

"I'm sorry. I should have told you." Aziraphale's forehead bumped against Crowley's shoulder. 

"You should. But I get why you didn't want to." A first time without emotions or expectations did hold an appeal after all. Like the gentry sending their sons to a brothel. Shit. Is that what Crowley was now? He could start a business. 

"Is there anything else I should know?" Crowley asked, just to detract from how much he was enjoying just cuddling. 

Aziraphale laughed a bit self-consciously. "When you slapped my bottom. That was…" 

"Are you going to say nice?" Crowley asked, cheek pressed against Aziraphale's hair. 

"Possibly."

Crowley heard the smile in Aziraphale's voice. Aziraphale sighed and looked back at Bentley. 

" _It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,_

_And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;_

_Thou know’st that this cannot be said_

_A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead_."

"Alright, Mr Donne, I take your point. Bentley hasn't bitten anybody though." Crowley reluctantly let Aziraphale go. 

"You could. I mean, if you really wanted to bite my thighs. You could. If you wanted." Aziraphale scratched lightly at the inside of his wrist. 

Crowley wanted. Possibly against his better judgement. The horrible truth was that he liked Aziraphale in a way he hadn't dared like anyone in a long time. He liked his body, and kissing him, and just talking to him. It was an I-hope-we-can-stay-friends-after-we-fake-break-up kind of like. An almost wish-this-dating-was-real kind of like. 

That wasn't going to happen though. Best case scenario for Crowley was to enjoy the now and hope for a mate at the end of it. 

And the reaction Crowley had got from the hair pulling was something that really did warrant investigation. Still, caution was advisable. 

"Do you want to?" Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale nodded. 

Crowley folded his arms. 

"Yes," Aziraphale said. "I want to."

OK then. Crowley tucked his heart away and focused on the lust pooling low in his belly. "Can you put your glasses back on?" Crowley asked cheekily. 

Aziraphale tilted his head "I don't know. Can you take yours off?" 

"Sure." He could. He'd done it with Aziraphale before hadn't he? And there were other ways to hide your emotions from people. 

Crowley stepped back, needing the space, and slipped his glasses off. He turned away almost immediately to place them on his desk. 

When he looked back Aziraphale was still there. He'd put his own glasses back on, so that gave Crowley a reason to paste on a smug smile like a mask. 

Then Aziraphale came forward, looking at Crowley in wonder. He traced his thumb along the corner of Crowley's eye. "They really are beautiful."

Crowley shivered all over, a completely awful vulnerability. It wouldn't do at all. He kissed Aziraphale hard, guiding him back towards the bed. 

Aziraphale leaned back on his hands fisting Crowley's very expensive sheets and trying to hold in his gasps. His legs were spread obscenely wide and, even more obscenely, Crowley was kneeling between them sucking a bruise on the inside of his thigh. 

It had seemed silly to start with. A little bit foolish. But oh goodness, it felt wonderful. So good Aziraphale was hard already, his cock rubbing against Crowley's hair as he bit down on Aziraphale's skin. 

Aziraphale's hips pushed up, a pitiful keen escaping him. Crowley's fingers dug into him, dragging him closer to the edge of the bed, while he left delicate kisses over the bruise he'd made. 

"Lay back for me," Crowley whispered, lifting himself up a bit so he could finish undoing Aziraphale's shirt buttons, coaxing the material back off his shoulders. Crowley's eyes were hazy with pleasure, his lips swollen and wet. Aziraphale kissed him, sucked that wicked tongue into his own mouth. 

Crowley whimpered, as they collapsed back on to the bed. Aziraphale slid his hands down the smooth expanse of Crowley's back and tried again to get his boxers off. 

"Nhmphf." Crowley wiggled away, pinning Aziraphale's hands down by his shoulders. "Just stay. M not done yet."

He slithered back off the bed, hooking one of Aziraphale's legs over his shoulders and lifting the other so his foot balanced on the edge of the mattress, spread and exposed. 

Crowley's mouth was everywhere, tongue lapping against Aziraphale's burning flesh. Aziraphale's cock bobbed against his stomach, red and heavy. Crowley circled his fingers around the root and licked the precom from the head. 

Aziraphale's muscles tightened. His spine curled into a bow, fingers gripping the sheets as Crowley took him into his mouth. The nails of his free hand scratched Aziraphale's thigh, a subtle, burning counterpoint to the wet, gorgeous heat around his cock. 

Aziraphale tried not to be too loud, but his cry had Bea banging on the wall. 

"Nearly done!" Aziraphale shouted desperately. 

Crowley snorted, his cheeks hollow, then his mouth was back to bestowing attention on Aziraphale's thighs, a hand pumping his now slick cock. 

Aziraphale squirmed on the bed, his breath becoming a string of babbled pleas for release. He was wound up and desperate, thrusting into Crowley's hand. 

Crowley's teeth grazed him, just the gentlest nibble, on his inner thigh. 

"Oh, fuck, please!" 

"That's it, make as much noise as you like, angel," Crowley said and bit down hard, his own hum of pleasure vibrating right through Aziraphale's bones. He came, moaning Crowley's praises and causing Bea to shriek obscenities through the wall. 

Blood buzzed in Aziraphale's ears. His whole body was weak as jelly as he sunk into the bed. Crowley stroked his legs.

"You are something, you know that?" 

"You did all the work." Aziraphale had to use a great deal of concentration for each word. "Do you need anything?" Aziraphale pushed himself onto his elbows, he was groggy with pleasure but would give his absolute best to whatever Crowley wanted. 

"New pants." Crowley grinned. "What? I said I really liked your thighs."

Aziraphale covered his mouth as he laughed. 

Crowley's eyes snapped open in terror. His arm was dead, fingers tingling. Aziraphale was curled up next to him, head on Crowley's shoulder, cutting off his circulation. 

Crowley was trapped. Even if he could free himself physically this was his room. Where could he go? He managed to flex his fingers, which relieved the tingling a bit. It also made Aziraphale snuggle closer. It didn't stop the pain, but it changed the focus points of it enough for Crowley's mind to clear. 

This was fine. It was Aziraphale. They weren't really dating. He'd wake up and be so embarrassed about the way his hand rested on Crowley's chest. The way his lips were slightly parted, breath soft and slow. The slight wheezing coming from his nose. 

He had the loveliest eyelashes. Pale but thick. The apples of his cheeks were temptingly kissable. 

Crowley hadn't thought Aziraphale particularly good looking when he'd first seen him. The tartan had rather coloured Crowley's judgement though. The more he looked, the more he saw how beautiful he was. Seeing him wake up made Crowley's heart constrict. 

Oh, he was in trouble. 

"Morning." Aziraphale smiled at him sweetly. 

So much trouble. "We need to decide how to break up," Crowley said. It didn't matter how often he fell, the landing never got any easier. 

"After only a week. Will they buy it, do you think?" Aziraphale lifted his head, frowning. 

The pain of blood returning to Crowley's fingertips was almost worse than it's absence. 

"Oh, I'm sorry." Aziraphale took Crowley's hands between both of his and began to rub them. 

Crowley tried not to lean forward and smell Aziraphale's hair. He made a noise rather like a deflating balloon. 

"We can maybe think about how to break up. Just for future discussion." Aziraphale said. 

Crowley nodded. 

"There are twenty seven bones in the human hand, you know?" Aziraphale turned Crowley's hand over, his thumb massaging the palm. 

"And I bet you can name all of them?" Crowley felt drowsy. What would Aziraphale's hands be like massaging his scalp? 

"A lot of them share the same names." Aziraphale splayed Crowley's fingers. Working his way slowly from the bottom up he said, "Metacarpal, proximal phalanges, middle phalanges, distal phalanges." 

Crowley nearly purred with bliss. 

Aziraphale's touch skimmed back to his palm. "Trapezoid, trapezium…." 

The delicate circles Aziraphale traced on his skin reached Crowley's wrist. "Radius, ulna…." 

He looked so innocent, and hopeful, and like he knew exactly what he was asking for. 

Crowley tried not to think about how, if they were really dating, he could roll Aziraphale over and kiss the back of his neck. Crowley could open him up, excrutiatingly slowly, fuck him even slower. It'd be warm and lazy, and self indulgent. 

Then he could take Aziraphale out for breakfast. They could hold hands over coffee. 

Crowley wanted it so badly his toes hurt. He shivered." Thanks. I'm going to shower." He got his hand back and nearly rolled off the bed. 

Aziraphale knelt there all ruffled hair and disappointment. A torturously thorough fucking would see to that. 

That thought did not help. It derailed Crowley enough that, without any permission from his brain, his mouth said, "Free Thursday? I have a spare ticket."

Aziraphale smiled and the world went softer at the edges. "Oh! A ticket. Lovely."


	3. Presentation of Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go back to Anathema's house....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much. I loved reading all your comments.
> 
> And thank you to Naro for the cheering. 
> 
> I promise healthy communication next chapter.

_ The Killer Queens _ tribute band were playing in a function room beneath a grubby looking pub in a Soho backstreet. Entering it was like walking into the underworld and as Crowley looked around the dark, smokey, low ceilinged room he had second, or third, or possibly even fourth thoughts about the wisdom of inviting Aziraphale to this place. 

This place of mediocre beer and casual flirtations. The place where he and his mates always bagged the best table which was the perfect distance between the band, the bar and the loos. 

The plus side was that it was such a dive Aziraphale probably wouldn't want to come here again after the fake break up. 

The stage was a temporary one and there were no wings so the band was already on there warming up. Crowley checked his watch. Five more minutes then he'd nip outside and see if Aziraphale had found the place alright. Maybe give him a call. 

Crowley's heart jumped when he saw the pale curls at the bottom of the stairs. The cream trousers looked the same but Aziraphale wore a blue t-shirt and a casual beige jacket. More school teacher than professor, but the mere idea of having such unimpeded access to Aziraphale's collarbone and wrists made Crowley quite dizzy. He launched himself out of his seat, waving and calling out. 

Aziraphale turned, puzzled, then his eyes lit up as he spotted Crowley. He waved back and hurried over. 

Crowley dropped back into his seat, far more relieved than he cared to admit. Newt's mouth was open. He hastily lifted his pint and hid behind it. Ana smirked at him shamelessly. 

"What?" Crowley shrugged and reached for his own beer. 

"Oh, nothing." Ana's smirk never faded.

"Ana just can't get over the fact that not only did you invite a plus one, but that they turned up." Newt's expression was perfectly innocent. "I, of course, had complete faith in you."

Crowley sneered at him. Newt had been Ana's boyfriend a long time, and worked with Crowley even longer. He therefore knew Crowley well enough to be unphased. He offered Crowley a cheeky smile, which Crowley accepted magnanimously.

Aziraphale arrived at their table bright-eyed and a bit breathless. Introductions were made while Crowley slid his hands in his back pockets so his fingers wouldn't be tempted to keep detouring to Aziraphale's neck.

"This one's a keeper," Ana declared after Aziraphale had discovered her family traded in rare books of prophecy and was rather more interested in this than Crowley wanted him to be. He wanted all that boundless enthusiasm for himself. 

"Get you a drink?" Crowley asked. His hand escaped, daring to brush Aziraphale's shoulder. 

"Oh yes!" Aziraphale smiled gratefully. 

"Come with me," Crowley said pointedly. "I'll show you what's on tap."

"Of course!" Aziraphale took the hint and scrambled to his feet. "Pleasure to meet you both," he said to Ana and Newt like he actually meant it. 

Ana winked at Crowley. When Aziraphale wasn't looking he flipped her the finger. Then his treacherous hand laced its fingers with Aziraphale's as they wove their way to the bar. Crowley's heart stuttered anxiously, but the pub was crowded now and it made sense not to let Aziraphale get left behind, didn't it? 

And Aziraphale didn't pull away. If anything there was definitely a reassuring squeeze bestowed. 

Crowley wiggled his way to the front of the crowd hanging about round the bar, making space so he could tuck Aziraphale in next to him. The crush was so tight their shoulders and thighs pressed together. 

"Do your friends actually think we're dating?" Aziraphale asked. 

"Argh, yeah, sorry. Didn't want it to get back to the others, did I?" And Crowley didn't want to hear Ana's opinion on his latest poorly thought out scheme. Especially as she'd be able to tell in an instant how gone Crowley was on Aziraphale. 

No point denying it now really. 

Best just enjoy the ride, but brace for the moment it crashed. 

"Do they know your flatmates?" Aziraphale asked. He had found a soggy beer mat and was pulling bits off the corner very precisely. 

"Yeah, like in passing. They come round to the flat sometimes." Crowley shifted closer under the pretense of being heard over the band tuning up. 

"Better to be safe, I guess," Aziraphale mused. 

"We can tell them if you mind."

Aziraphale glanced up at him. "Oh no, I don't mind. If you don't mind?" 

Crowley shook his head. 

"That's alright then." Aziraphale went back to tapping his beer mat on the bar and nibbling his lip. Crowley wanted to kiss the worry away. But the kissing was probably the cause of Aziraphale's concern in the first place. Crowley bit his own lip and tried to catch the bartender's eye. He ended up landing a speculative gaze further down the bar. It came with golden hair and a movie star smile. Cheek bones Crowley could cut himself on. Any other night and Crowley would have been interested. Tonight he smiled out of habit and looked away, pressing his shoulder closer to Aziraphale's. Then, remembering the danger he was in shifted back again, keeping a safer distance between them. Aziraphale glanced up at him, lip biting accompanied by worried eyes. The bartender came over so Crowley could pretend he hadn't noticed. 

Aziraphale was rather proud of himself. He'd found his way into an unfamiliar place, met two people he didn't know and was listening to possibly the loudest music he had in his life. 

The low ceiling and cramped space amplified every strum of the base and crash of the drums. His head pounded. He was relieved that there wasn't room to dance properly, although the table had been pushed back to the wall so Ana could do a mad pogo kind of flailing, all arms and skirt. Newt and Crowley joined in when space allowed. Aziraphale kept a firm grip on his pint and bounced gamely on his toes while singing along. He was pleasantly surprised by how many of the words he knew. 

What wasn't pleasant was how distant Crowley had become. He wasn't being rude, but there was a caution to him whenever he came near Aziraphale, like he was ready to bolt. There had been no more hand holding. That should have been a good thing as Aziraphale had been convinced he was going to combust when Crowley had reached back for him like that. For a moment it had felt like, well, he was just being silly. 

And there had been the Adonis at the bar too. Handsome and stylish, and still glancing over from where he and his friends were. 

Aziraphale finished his drink, half turning to find somewhere to put the empty down. 

Crowley appeared and plucked the glass from his hand. "Another?" 

Aziraphale only understood by lip reading. 

"You'll miss the band!" He waved at the stage where the lead singer was performing contortions with the microphone stand. Aziraphale feared for the integrity of his spine. 

Crowley tapped his watch and yelled something. 

Aziraphale shook his head. 

Crowley tried again. 

"A life line?" Aziraphale asked. 

Then Crowley was inches from him, the heat of his skin warming Aziraphale's own. Aziraphale stepped back, hand behind himself to steady himself on the table. Crowley's breath was by his ear, the lingering touch of fingers on his waist. 

"Nearly half time. Gonna avoid the rush to the bar."

"Splendid," Aziraphale managed, eyes closed. "Yes, please."

Crowley pulled back a bit. Still close though, the delicate pressure of fingertips still on Aziraphale's t-shirt beneath his jacket. 

Crowley had pushed his glasses into his hair, his eyes were bright with alcohol, his fringe damp from dancing. 

Aziraphale held his gaze, desperate to say something. It was the closest they'd been since the bar. 

"Same again, then?" Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale gripped the table so hard he was sure there'd be a dent. He nodded. 

Crowley whisked himself quickly away. Aziraphale didn't dare move. He clung to the table watching Crowley negotiate a path through the undulating crowd. He passed by the Adonis and was stopped with a hand on his arm. 

Bile rose in Aziraphale's throat, which was beyond foolish. There was no longer a reason for him and Crowley to be together tonight. Any more displays and their housemates would get suspicious. He'd been invited tonight because, despite Crowley's protestations on the subject, he was nice. And they would still need to date for a while to make things convincing. 

There. Perfect. All sorted out. 

Still, the relief when Crowley removed the hand on his bicep and continued to the bar made Aziraphale lightheaded. 

"You're lovely!" A force collided with his side as Ana flung an arm around his shoulder. "And Crowley is lovely, so thank  _ you  _ for being lovely for him."

Aziraphale swayed under the force of Ana's weight and searching stare. 

"He's very easy to be lovely to. For."

She grinned at him. "He is!" Her grin vanished, deep brown eyes narrowing behind her glasses and the grip on his neck becoming painful. "And if you're one of those men who's going to take advantage and hurt him, I will hex your blood into burning oil."

"Ana! You won't!" Newt stood on Aziraphale's other side. "She won't," he told Aziraphale, but then with complete seriousness added, "But we will both be very upset with you."

That was somehow worse. Aziraphale glanced desperately about for Crowley, and caught sight of him still at the bar. With the Adonis. Very close to the Adonis in a way that suggested it wasn't entirely to do with the crowds. Aziraphale was used to the bottomless disappointment of never being chosen, of never being enough, that overtook him, stealing the air from his lungs. The problem was that Ana and Newt had turned to look too. Aziraphale's heart thrashed about against his ribs. The butterflies in his stomach tumbled about madly. They would know Aziraphale wasn't really dating Crowley. Or worse, they'd think something had gone wrong and then they'd be very upset. 

Aziraphale was within a breath of confessing everything and throwing himself on their mercy when Crowley stepped back from the Adonis sharply. 

The Adonis laughed, and there was something cruel about the way his mouth curled. 

"Excuse me." Aziraphale twisted out from under the drape of Ana's arm. He was halfway to the bar before he realised what he was doing. A cool detachment had settled over Aziraphale's nerves though. They were very much still there, but could very much not be felt through his sheer outrage that someone would dare to look at Crowley like that. 

"Is everything alright," Aziraphale asked when he reached Crowley's side. 

Crowley jumped, and stared at him with such horror that Aziraphale feared he'd made a mistake with his impulsive rescue attempt.

"You're the boyfriend?" Adonis asked in a way that Aziraphale was more than familiar with. It was all disbelief buoyed up with amusement. 

"Yes." It sounded like a question. Aziraphale glanced at Crowley nervously. 

"It's fine," Crowley replied. "I'll bring the drinks over in a bit."

Aziraphale nodded. Perhaps he had got it wrong. Perhaps he was ruining Crowley's evening after all. 

"Boyfriend," Adonis scoffed. "You know he leaves this place with a different person every time he comes here?" 

Crowley went pale. "Well, tonight isn't your night, mate." He sounded firm enough, but there was a strain of desperation running through it, like on their first meeting when he'd described himself as a flash bastard. 

"It's mine." The words leapt straight from Aziraphale's brain to his lips. "Because as he has already told you, I am his  _ boyfriend."  _ He took Crowley's hand and pulled him away from the bar. 

"The drinks, angel," Crowley said. 

Aziraphale stopped. Crowley walked straight into his back, and had to wrap an arm around Aziraphale's waist to stop him falling into someone. They staggered upright together. Crowley's arm stayed where it was as Aziraphale turned to face him. There was a gentle smile on Crowley's face. Aziraphale was quite besotted with it. That and the heady giddiness of  _ angel.  _ Still embarrassing, but also satisfying now that Aziraphale knew it wasn't a rebuke. 

"Bother the drinks." Aziraphale allowed himself to edge closer. "He's still watching," he whispered. 

He was sure the Adonis was. Aziraphale would have been if their situations had been reversed. 

"Oh?" That gentle smile deepened cutting through the habitual wariness in Crowley's eyes, making them warmer. Feeling brave, Aziraphale risked kissing the edge of that smile, then the centre. The arm Crowley had around his waist tightened. 

"So, you're taking me home then?" Crowley breathed into their kiss. 

They ended up back at Ana's house. Or rather Ana's mother's penthouse in Mayfair. 

"We sell the prophecy books," Ana laughed as she opened the door, "We read them too and act accordingly."

"An ancestor invested in Apple and they own the whole building," Crowley said watching Aziraphale's eyes widen at the sheer size of the space Ana was ushering them into. It was a bit too bright for Crowley's taste, but he liked the uncluttered nature of it, and the space. His whole life was currently crammed into a single bedroom so space to spread out in was a particularly visceral fantasy of his. 

"I'm impressed the prophecy was right." Aziraphale's eyes lifted to the chandelier. 

"Of course it was right," Ana said. "It was written by my several times great grandmother. Now come through to the den. There's booze."

Aziraphale's hand was in Crowley's again as they walked into the cosier den, and it was pushing him into a freefall, tumbling down over his own foolishness. Aziraphale hadn't saved him from anything. Crowley would have handled the matter at the bar, and yet he'd cared enough to come over. To take Crowley's side. 

He kept Aziraphale close to him, like a charm, and tried to ignore the way Ana looked at them as she poured them all drinks from her mother's cocktail cabinet. 

"Show Aziraphale the garden," Ana said, popping a cherry into her mouth. 

"Garden?" Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, eyes hazy with alcohol and desire. 

"Just a roof terrace, really." Crowley liked being looked at like that. Liked the way it matched his own feelings. 

"He helped us design and plant it," Ana said, despite Crowley glaring at her over his glasses. 

"You garden?" Aziraphale asked, and the awe in his voice made Crowley want to puff up his chest. 

"You speak Japanese," he replied nonchalantly as he could. 

"Show me. Please," Aziraphale asked, all eyes again. 

Crowley couldn't refuse, despite Ana giving him the most devilish smile. The Serpent of Eden could not have done better. 

Crowley glared at her, but he accepted the bottle she handed him and pulled Aziraphale towards the stairs. 

"Take your time," Ana singsonged after them. 

Crowley made sure to slam the door loudly as they left. 

It was just a terrace on the top of the building. Just pots and raised beds, some miniature fruit trees and roses climbing over trellises. Crowley turned the heaters on as soon as they stepped out of the sliding doors. 

There was a large circular sunlounger under its own canopy too. Practically an outdoor bed. Pillows and everything. Crowley eyed it speculatively, but Aziraphale had already drifted to the low wall at the edge of the roof. He sat down so his legs dangled over the side of the building and his arms rested on the railing. 

Crowley took a gulp from the wine bottle and sauntered over. "Aren't you afraid you'll fall?" 

"A bit, but the view is lovely." He looked at Crowley and Crowley tried very hard to make his face behave. He had less luck with his emotions who were suggesting that if he were a Regency heroine a swoon would be appropriate right now. 

Before his body could implement that he sat down next to Aziraphale and took a slug from the wine bottle before passing it over. 

London was a restless sleeper, all lights and distant cars turning the clouds above a smoggy orange. 

"What that man at the bar said. Was it true?" Aziraphale asked as he handed the wine bottle back. 

"Not  _ every  _ night. I'm not even in there that much," Crowley said quickly. He didn't mention that he had far more respectable pulling grounds elsewhere. "I'm not stupid though. I'm clean if that's why you're worried." He put the bottle to his lips as though that were obvious, and not at all a big deal. 

"No. Gosh, no I didn't think that….Ana asked me not to hurt you again that was all."

"Asked?" Crowley side-eyed Aziraphale, eyebrow raised in a way he thought made him look rather debonair. 

"Well…threatened," Aziraphale admitted weakly. 

"What was it?"

"Blood to oil."

"She must like you. Normally it's cursing certain appendages off." 

"Give me the wine bottle." Aziraphale leaned over, snatching it back. He took a few gulps and rolled his lips inwards. "I'm doing this all wrong. I just wanted you to know that I'm not judging you, and that I don't presume to have any say over what you do when we're not together, but I do hope that when our arrangement ends we can still be friends. I don't want to hurt you, and I don't want your, quite frankly terrifying, friends to hurt me. That was all really."

"Huh," Crowley said. Then, "Ngk." He carefully took the bottle back making sure their fingers didn't brush in case the shock of it made him drop it on an unsuspecting motorist. 

"Sorry." Aziraphale hunched his shoulders, fingers knotting together in his lap. "I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"Hook ups are easier, that's all. Less pressure. More control." Crowley heard himself say the words. They sounded measured and distant. Good. 

"I guess you've had experiences that weren't all roaring fires and rose petals either then?" Aziraphale said with false brightness. 

Thing was, there had been a moment when Crowley thought it might be roaring fires and all that, and he'd felt so stupid afterwards when he was trying to scrub the weirdness of it off in the shower. It hadn't been bad, or painful. It just hadn't been what he wanted, and he hadn't been wanted afterwards. 

Easier just to stay the one in control, wasn't it? 

"It's not a big deal though, is it?" Crowley said, gaze very much fixed outwards. 

"Not always." Aziraphale murmured at the clouds. "I'd never be brave enough to just go home with someone normally. Whenever I've thought something might happen with people I know there's always a but. I like you Aziraphale, but you're too soft. I like you Aziraphale, but you talk too much. I like you Aziraphale, but…Why would a stranger be any different?" 

"I like you, Aziraphale." Crowley put the bottle back to his lips as though he could swallow the words back down. 

Aziraphale looked at him, smiling faintly and eyes still not quite believing it. "I like you. I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. All agreed, wasn't it? We're fine, aren't we?" Just hold on to that and it would be fine. 

"Yes. Of course. Tickety-boo."

" _ Tickety-boo,"  _ Crowley mimicked. "Do you hear yourself sometimes?" 

"I take it it's the overtures of colonialism you object to," Aziraphale said primly. 

"You what?" 

"It's possible origins are from Hindi, picked up in British India before independence. It means  _ it's alright, sir…."  _

"Stop talking." Crowley forced the matter by kissing him. It was sweeter than he'd meant it to be. A gentle press of lips, the taste of salt skin and rich wine. 

"Oh!" Aziraphale sighed and grabbed Crowley's jacket. "Thank you for interrupting before I tried to pronounce Hindi."

"I said, shut up." Crowley kissed him again, harder, but no less sweet. 

Aziraphale's arms slid round his neck, tongue venturing out to welcome Crowley closer. Crowley went, gripping Aziraphale's waist to steady himself against the heady rush of it. 

The wine bottle toppled and rolled away between some pots. Crowley clambered to his feet, almost dragging Aziraphale up after him, not willing to let him go more than absolutely necessary. He was desperate, too desperate to care about consequences beyond the pleasure of having Aziraphale in his arms, of the way he grasped Crowley back, just as hungry. They stumbled into one of the heaters, changed direction, leaving a trail of shoes and coats until they sprawled out on the lounger. Crowley had a hand pushing up Aziraphale's t-shirt, the other gripping his thigh. Aziraphale's hands were in Crowley's hair, his leg tight round Crowley's waist. Their hips rolled, rutting their cocks together through tented fabric. 

"Tickety-boo." Crowley nuzzled behind Aziraphale's ear. "Seriously?" 

"You say blimey," Aziraphale gasped, hand trying to push down Crowley's trousers, as far as he could when they were still done up. 

"I bloody don't." Crowley got on to his knees, fingers fumbling in their haste to undo his belt. 

"Do you want to argue or fuck me?" Aziraphale sat up too, kiss swollen lips parted and breath coming hard. 

"Both?" Crowley glanced up, just as Aziraphale dragged his t-shirt over his head, exposing the gentle curve of his stomach, the broad expanse of his chest lifted and vulnerable to Crowley's mouth. He giggled as Crowley tongued his nipple. The mix of sexy and cute always left Crowley feeling slightly mad. In a good way. The best way. 

"No. I have other plans for your mouth." Aziraphale began wrestling with his own trousers. His gaze fixed on Crowley, holding him tight as it travelled over him. 

Aziraphale's tongue darted out, licked his top lip. 

"I've created a monster." It would have sounded much flirtier if Crowley hadn't been biting back a moan at the same time. 

It was still enough to make Aziraphale look indignant as he shimmied out of his trousers. "You most certainly have not! I wasn't an innocent, Crowley! I experimented. I knew what I liked!" 

"Oh?" Crowley's brain went white for a moment, playing nothing but static. The combination of imagining Aziraphale, head thrown back as he brought himself pleasure, and that the marks on his thighs from last week were now exposed left Crowley burning. A red hot lance of need went right through him. How had he come to this? Sex with this many emotions was terrifying. 

Aziraphale pushed himself up, hands attacking Crowley's trousers. "Everybody does it. Now I want you to do it to me. Please," Aziraphale looked up at him. "I want…. I, I mean, would you? Again? Please?" 

"Yes." Crowley palmed Aziraphale's jaw, tilting his head back so he could kiss him. "Anything you want," Crowley breathed into his mouth. Anything. His heart might not survive it, but that didn't mean he wanted to stop. 

Aziraphale dragged Crowley's trousers down as far as he could. The material bunched just above his knees, refusing to move. 

"Infernal things," Aziraphale muttered. 

"There's a trick to it." Crowley rolled off the bed fingers trembling as began working his trousers down. "Give me something to look at, aye? Show me the findings of your  _ experiments. _ " 

Aziraphale's eyebrows lifted, colour blooming over his chest and the tips of his ears. It was only a moment and, before Crowley could soften his demand, he retrieved a packet of lube from the pocket of his crumpled trousers. He lay back on the pillows one hand behind his head so he could continue to watch Crowley. He stroked his cock with his other, slicked up hand, slowly squeezing the tip. He looked nervous and aroused, blush spreading. 

Fuck. Crowley froze, half out of his trousers. 

Aziraphale shifted his legs further apart, hand leaving his cock to play with his balls, slip further back between his spread thighs. He moaned, eyes fluttering closed, cheeks darkening further. 

"Fuck." Crowley nearly fell over as he frantically discarded his trousers in his haste to get back on the lounger. He paused, grabbed his own lube and coating his fingers. Aziraphale arched, head tipping back, breath coming faster as he fingered himself. Crowley climbed over him and dragged his teeth over Aziraphale's throat, following the edge of the blush. He pinched the existing bruise on Aziraphale's thighs, delighting in the way his body squirmed in response. Then Crowley's fingers were replacing Aziraphale's, pressing into his already open body, stretching him as wide as he dared. 

Aziraphale twisted slightly reaching for something behind him. Face still buried in Aziraphale's shoulder, Crowley heard the condom wrapper rip. He shifted giving Aziraphale space to roll it on to him. His hips thrust forward at the touch. A heady mix of lust and affection made Crowley press his lips tight, holding himself together by a thread. Aziraphale shifted his legs wider and dug his fingers into Crowley's arse, pulling him forward. "Please," Aziraphale whimpered, his cock hard and damp against Crowley's stomach. "I'm ready. Please. I need…" 

His words cut off in a gasp as Crowley pushed inside him, nearly rough with his own want. 

"Msorry. Sorry."

Aziraphale's fingers gripped harder, he pushed up, taking more of Crowley's cock. "Said I was ready. More. Please."

"Give me a minute. Just you feel too good." Crowley hung in the moment, nerves and muscles quivering and Aziraphale's body flexing round him. Their foreheads pressed together, each breath shared. Aziraphale whimpered Crowley's name and Crowley sunk the rest of the way in, relishing the heat and pressure, the way Aziraphale sighed beneath him. 

"Sok?" Crowley asked. 

"It's OK. Can I move too? I want to feel you everywhere. I won't, I won't break. I want to feel this."

"Yeah, yeah, sfine." More than fine. Perfect. 

Aziraphale started slowly fucking himself on Crowley's cock. The drag of it was too much. Crowley thrust forward hard making Aziraphale cry out, move his leg higher to accommodate him. "Like that. Just like that," Aziraphale begged. 

Crowley let himself go and Aziraphale met each stroke, a hand braced behind him so they didn't slide back into the headboard. Crowley got a knee underneath himself for more leverage. Aziraphale's eyes were lust-bright, teeth digging into his bottom lip. The pace was furious now, skin slapping lewdly in the silence. 

"Crowley, I.." 

"Anything, angel."

Aziraphale's hand slid between them, bumping Crowley's stomach as he tugged his own cock. "I love how you fuck me," he whispered against Crowley's too hot skin. 

Crowley's desire peaked, tearing through him. He closed his eyes tight, molars grinding together as he came with Aziraphale's voice right by his ear. "I love how you look when you come apart, love how you feel inside me, Lord, I love…oh, Crowley,  _ fuck!"  _

Which was something Crowley wanted to paste into the scrapbook of his broken heart and keep forever. 

He risked opening his eyes, suddenly away of the roar of the heaters, the electric flames flickering blue and orange in his peripheral vision. Aziraphale lay back on the pillows, the arm that had braced against the headboard now resting over his face as he caught his breath. 

There was a blood red rose petal by his ear. It must have been dislodged from the trellis overhead by the pounding they'd put the lounger through. 

Crowley froze. This was not amusing. He flopped onto his back, sweeping the petal on to the floor where the damn thing belonged. 

"I'll get us a towel," Crowley muttered. "And some blankets. You need anything else?"

"No." Aziraphale peered up at Crowley from beneath his arm. "Are you alright?" 

Crowley paused in doing up his trousers. He bared his teeth, the closest he could get to a smile without weeping. "Tickety-fucking-boo."

Aziraphale was dragged out of sleep by the revving of a car engine somewhere in the street below. 

The sky was a dirty yellow, the sun valiantly trying to burn through the cloud cover. Aziraphale sat up slowly, an ache in his back from a mattress that was not at all well padded. 

Panic began low in his stomach, spreading outwards until it had sunk its talons into his flesh. 

He hadn't planned to stay! He had to work this morning! 

And he'd practically dragged Crowley to the lounger, begged to be fucked. The things he'd said to him! When Crowley had been so clear a relationship was not what he wanted. When Aziraphale was now feeling very strongly that it was all that he did want. 

Crowley was on his side, cheek pillowed on his arm snoring gently. The blankets had worked down to his waist and his ribs expanded and sunk with each breath. Aziraphale was desperate to run his hands up his spine and into his hair. Wanted to wake him with a kiss, and then slid down his body and taste the salt on his skin, feel the stretch of that long, smooth cock in his mouth. Work Crowley into a state of tortured bliss before pushing him to release. 

Then they could go for breakfast. Crepes, maybe? 

No! 

Aziraphale put his head in his hands. Crowley didn't want crepes. He wanted casual. The freedom to choose or not choose an Adonis as soon as his arrangement with Aziraphale was over. 

The fear of being there when Crowley woke up won over the fear of sneaking out of an unfamiliar house at an ungodly hour of the morning. It was five thirty-five. Still time to get home and shower and then get to the lab at a reasonable enough hour. 

Aziraphale resisted the urge to leave one last kiss on the sweep of Crowley's cheek bone and set about collecting his clothes. 

Crowley opened his eyes blearily. He rolled over arm reaching out into empty space. He sat up. It had been the creak of the sliding doors that had woken him. Aziraphale was gone, his presence a ghost already fading. Nothing but a squashed pillow and a note where his head had rested. 

_ Needed to get to work.  _

Huh. Crowley turned the note over. Nothing more. So, this was what being the one left alone in the morning felt like. Well, that was that then. Better this way wasn't it? 


	4. Implications and Conclusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go home...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much. I am still happy wiggling over the love you've all shown this.
> 
> A big thanks to Naro for the pep talk and suggestions. The end of this chapter is so much better for them.

**A week later**

A week passed by with all the speed and enthusiasm of cold sludge. Aziraphale had sent Crowley a message apologising for his hasty departure, reiterating he'd had to work. Which wasn't untrue on a Friday. 

All fine. No worries. Crowley replied. And that was it. For a whole week. 

Probably for the best, Aziraphale told himself as his mind frequently wandered back to their night in the garden. He was already besotted and seeing more of Crowley would only add to that. Although thinking about how nice it would be to meet Crowley and tell him about a particularly fascinating spinal injury on an approximately twenty something year old male wasn't helping his resolve. His hands fluttered about more than usual, empty and unsure why there was nothing for them to hold. 

For the best. Aziraphale had got what he wanted, and Crowley would find himself another Adonis, hopefully one with better manners. Aziraphale's life would reset itself back to bland, but it would continue. 

There was still the awkward conversation to be endured with his housemates about his weekend plans. He'd have to confess his fake relationship was over, but he'd survive that too. 

They never did ask though. Aziraphale hung around the communal areas just to get the unpleasantness done. He even dared ask Michael if she were up to anything. 

She said she was, but didn't return the courtesy. 

Nothing had changed. No one cared. They'd got their pleasure from the idea of the blind date and they didn't actually need to know whether it had worked or not. 

On Saturday morning, Aziraphale sent a polite email to his landlord and started looking for a new place to live. He couldn't face the idea of another house share, so several depressing financial spreadsheets later he found himself standing on the pavement outside a dirty looking building having visited the latest mold dusted studio flat inside it that would add thirty minutes to his daily commute, soak up his book budget and promised him future dinners of instant noodles. 

Well. Maybe he could ask about at work? Aziraphale began scrolling through more lets on his phone, searching for a glimmer of hope. He was so engrossed he nearly missed the flash of red hair as it left the building and hurried past. 

"Crowley!" Aziraphale said before he remembered how imprudent that would be. 

Crowley stopped, shoulders lifting defensively as he turned around. "Hi, Aziraphale. Just, ah…" He waved a hand back at the building. "Felt like a change…" 

"Oh! Me too. What did you think of the leak in the bathroom?" 

"I thought it paled in comparison to the southerly view over the bin storage."

The butterflies in Aziraphale's stomach flapped feebly back to life. He managed a smile. 

"Good to see you," Crowley said, already stepping back. 

"Wait! I mean, it's been a long day. There's a cafe on the corner, if you'd like…?" He was pathetic. He knew it, but hadn't been able to stop himself. His empty hand reached out. 

And they had wanted to stay friends, hadn't they? 

Crowley hesitated. "Sure, OK."

Aziraphale's smile still felt cautious, but it came easier. 

The cafe was a cramped little hole-in-the-wall place with slightly sticky tables and uncomfortable plastic seats. Aziraphale snagged them one of the last remaining places while Crowley went to the counter. 

He came back with an expresso for himself, and tea and a slice of angel cake for Aziraphale. 

"Oh, you shouldn't have." Aziraphale accepted the cake anyway. Out of politeness. 

"You mean you aren't peckish?" Crowley smiled, and it was nearly an honest smile, nearly like before. 

"Share it with me?" Aziraphale nudged the plate towards him. 

"Sure. Oh, extra milk too." Crowley searched his pockets and emptied a couple of extra tubs onto the table. 

"Thank you. House hunting too then?" Aziraphale doubled the milk content in his tea. 

"Obviously." Crowley hunched over his expresso, fascinated by his fingers playing with the cup handle. 

"Best just to move on now, I think?" Aziraphale tried weakly. 

"Easier said than done sometimes," Crowley told his cup. 

The door swung open letting in a burst of noise and cooler air. They both looked at it hoping for distraction. The couple glanced around and then went to the counter. 

Aziraphale flexed his fingers in his lap. "I thought I might go home next weekend." He wanted to get out of the house for a while, and was getting so desperate returning home had started to look attractive. "Mum's always nagging me to bring someone round…" 

Crowley's head shot up. His glasses were still on, but his mouth was hard. "No, Aziraphale. I mean it was one thing lying to our house mates…" 

"And your friends!" Aziraphale was quite startled by the venom in Crowley's voice. He'd had no expectations. Just company for the train journey. Someone to talk to who wouldn't badger about his weight, or his job or bloody grandchildren. 

"But, lying to your family, too? That's ridiculous." Crowley went back to glaring at his cup. It was a wonder the poor thing didn't burst into flame. 

"I'm not saying we lie." Aziraphale sipped his tea to keep his hands under control. He wasn't. But, with hindsight he could see how imprudent the idea had been. Idiot. 

"Oh?" Crowley lifted his eyebrow ominously. 

"I mean, we don't have to say we're together."

"Then what would we be?" Crowley sat back, folding his hands. 

"I…" 

"Never mind. I'm busy anyway. I have plans."

"Of course you do." Aziraphale deflated, sinking into his coat. A six foot, muscled plan with expensive jeans, no doubt. 

Which Crowley was perfectly within his right to do. Have. 

"I need to go." Crowley stood up. "I paid at the till. You're fine."

"I'll see you around then?" Aziraphale tried. 

"Yeah, if you like. You have my number."

Then Crowley was gone. Aziraphale made himself finish his tea, but the cake looked so forlorn he couldn't stand to eat it. 

**Two weeks later.**

_I have tickets, if you're amenable?_

Crowley looked at the message on his phone. It was suddenly far more interesting than the specimen in the microscopic camera. 

_I completely understand if not, but it was something through work and no one else could go. You mentioned you liked James Bond and it'll be all the gadgets and costumes on display at the V &A. _

Crowley blinked again. His heart soared and swan-dived at the same time. Another message pinged into being. 

_You just mentioned staying friends. I'd like to be friends. If you wanted to take Ana or Newt instead though that would be perfectly fine, by the way._

Friends, sure. Crowley could do friends. He felt light-headed, not quite part of the world. Beneath the microscope the flea was looking at him funny. Crowley turned off the camera's monitor. 

_Oh, this is Aziraphale. In case you deleted my number. Which I would understand._

Crowley had thought about it. Couldn't do it. Despite setting his boundaries over Aziraphale's family visit he'd not been able to cut off his hope completely. He took a deep breath. Friends. Yes. He'd established boundaries, hadn't he? 

_Tickets_ , he messaged back, praying his sarcasm would translate via instant messaging. _Lovely_.

**A month later.**

Friday night loomed before Crowley like the deepest pit of Hell. Even the previously cathartic idea of going on the pull didn't appeal. Too much effort, and not enough pay back when whoever he ended up with would not be who he wanted. 

He wanted Aziraphale. 

But being friends was, dare he say it, nice. So nice he hadn't dared to risk fucking it up by holding hands at the Secret Cinema, or letting his guard down enough to try feeding the angel churros at Borough Market. 

He was not going to message Aziraphale without a valid plan to spend time together.

Want to just hang out? Was not a valid plan. 

It would involve sitting on Crowley's bed, huddled close so they could both see the laptop screen. It'd be the blissful domesticity of debating pizza toppings and deciding who would brave the kitchen for more beer. 

It would be the inherent risk of, it's late, angel, why don't you just crash here. In my bed. With me. 

Nope. 

Still, at least there would be no more flat hunting. Ana had spoken to her mother about a vacant flat in their building, and a deal to be done if Crowley didn't mind plant sitting when they travelled abroad. 

It was a beautiful flat. And no other way he'd afford so much space, and in Mayfair too. 

There it was. Crowley had plans. Plans to pack. 

Sorted. 

In an effort to prevent any more thoughts along those lines running around in his head, Crowley ventured out into the museum to find where Newt was patrolling. He tracked him down near Guy the Gorilla. 

The stuffed ape glanced regally out of his glass box at his regular trickle of admirers. 

Newt kept a respectful distance, enough to look approachable but without hovering enough to make people feel uncomfortable. 

Crowley chatted with him pleasantly for all of five minutes before the inevitable conversation about weekend plans happened. 

"Thought you'd be with Aziraphale." Newt rocked on his heels, then directed a mother and her daughter to the dinosaurs. 

"Nope." Crowley sighed. 

"You broke up? I'm sorry."

Newt did look very sorry. It just highlighted the ridiculousness of the whole thing. 

Crowley laughed. "Never broke up. Were never dating."

The look Newt gave him was one of despair, but not surprise. "You took him to the Oscar Wilde thing at the British Library. And there was your obsession with getting tickets for Hamlet last week. You hate the gloomy ones."

"We're friends. I do things I hate with you and Ana all the time. Look…" Crowley knew the whole story would sound ridiculous, but if it would stop Newt asking it'd be worth it. He confessed. Seeing the madness of the arrangement he'd had with Aziraphale reflected back at him in Newt's face was soul crushing though. "Don't tell Ana." Crowley didn't beg. It was a threat. Yeah. A threat. 

"Why?" Newt frowned. 

"You know why." 

Newt nodded sagely. They'd both been on the wrong end of Ana's well meaning yet acidic diatribes. 

Newt adjusted his glasses. "Yes, but that doesn't mean she'd be wrong. We both liked him. Liked how he made you smile."

Crowley scoffed at that. 

Newt gave him an impatient look. "Just because I'm nice, Crowley, doesn't mean I'm stupid."

Crowley scuffed the toe of his boot on the floor. "But everyone leaves, don't they?" Terrifying how easy it was to talk to Newt. There was never any judgement in him. 

"I don't. Ana doesn't." 

"S different." Crowley scratched at the back of his neck. 

"Aziraphale hasn't. You've been dating him for two months!" 

"As friends!" 

"Look, Crowley, if you keep pushing people away before they can leave, that doesn't help either. The way I see it you've been dating him. The pair of you are just too chicken to admit it." Newt patted him on the arm, and then wandered off to see what a couple puzzling over a map wanted. 

Crowley had been dating Aziraphale, but that was the whole point. It hadn't been real. It wasn't real now. 

He leaned back against the wall glancing down at Guy.

"Wasn't real," Crowley said. 

The Gorilla didn't move, but his face looked curious and sympathetic, at least. It always did. 

Crowley rubbed his face and thought about Aziraphale gently adjusting his grip on a pair of chopsticks. Of the looks he just caught the tail end of sometimes before Aziraphale hid them. Was it really affection and hope and regret Crowley saw, or was he just projecting like the sad bastard he was? 

"I mean we like each other's company. Like your company though."

Guy accepted this compliment as his due. 

"My point is, that doesn't mean I want to date you. Ergo doesn't mean Aziraphale wants to date me, does it?" 

Guy kept his own counsel. 

"You're not very helpful for something with such a big brain, you know?" 

"He's at the BM right?" 

Crowley jumped. Guy's voice sounded remarkably like Newt's. Turned out that because Newt had returned from being helpful. 

"Yeah," Crowley said. 

"They don't close until six. Just go talk to him. Give Guy a break, maybe?" 

She was sixteen, some of her finger and toe bones were missing, but they were always elusive little phalanges, and she was absent a few ribs, but otherwise mostly there. Aziraphale had just finished laying her out. There was some kind of damage to the patellas he wanted to look more closely at. 

"How's the house hunting?" Tracy leaned on his table. 

"Not ideal." Aziraphale had started considering house shares again, which left all sorts of sour tastes in his mouth. If he'd had a partner he'd have been able to afford something bigger. 

He didn't have a partner. 

He'd almost asked Crowley to come and see a two bedroomed conversion in a warehouse with him. 

Almost. But that seemed monstrously unfair of Aziraphale after their meeting in the cafe. Things had gotten better between them, very much so, but Aziraphale wasn't prepared to ruin that by not respecting Crowley's boundaries. 

Or his own. Aziraphale couldn't stand the thought of Crowley bringing someone home with him one night. He'd go mad thinking of Crowley being loved just the other side of a wall. 

Aziraphale adjusted the girl's skull a bit. 

"Have you asked around the team?" Tracy came closer. She gave him a playful nudge. "Or what about that young man you were seeing? Bentley?" 

"Crowley. And we weren't really seeing each other." Aziraphale sounded morose even to his ears. 

Tracy lifted her eyebrows. "You're spending a lot of time with someone you aren't dating." 

"It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Just for the sex then, is it?" Tracy laughed. 

"I really don't…" Aziraphale's ears burned. 

"I'm old love, not dead. And I saw the selfie of the two of you on the South Bank. Such a nice smile, he has."

Crowley did have a transcendent smile. The photo had caught the soft one, the one with dimples that Aziraphale could drown in. Crowley had his glasses pushed up into his hair too. Eyes clear and amused as Aziraphale tried to work the phone on his camera. 

"C'mon here."

And then Crowley's arms were around him, holding the phone up in both hands, and Aziraphale had blinked in the first one, so they'd done it again. 

Another excruciating eternity of having Crowley's chest against his back, being wrapped in the heat of him. 

It had taken Aziraphale every single molecule of will power not to save that picture as his wallpaper. 

He'd even worked out how to do it and everything. 

"The thing I find so frustrating about bones," Tracy continued. "Is that they can tell us about how people lived, what may have killed them, what they ate, but sometimes I want to ask, how did you feel at the end? What do you regret?" 

The look she gave Aziraphale was just so completely kind he felt himself tear up. 

"I think you're done here for the day, love." Tracy squeezed his shoulder. 

Aziraphale nodded and remembered Crowley bringing him extra milk for his tea. The way his own heart jumped with anticipation every time he found a reason to spend time with Crowley, and the excitement when Crowley said yes. 

Oh dear. 

"I think Russell Square tube station would be quickest, love," Tracy said. 

Aziraphale smiled his thanks, but was already running for his coat. 

The tube was packed, it was always packed, but today every dithering tourist, every eejit waltzing around on their phone made Crowley's teeth grind just a little bit harder. He employed elbows, and occasionally knees, to force his way through the crush to the stairs. His anxiety was eating him from the inside out. 

He had to see Aziraphale now. Even if it was all in Crowley's head and Aziraphale did want to be friends only then at least Crowley would know. 

He'd expire from frustrated wanting, but he'd know. 

He grabbed the railing of the stairs with one hand, dragging himself up as he went with the flow of the crowd where he could and cut past the slower pockets where needed. 

He was nearly there. Once above ground again, the crowd would thin out and he could run. 

"Crowley!" 

Crowley turned, half thinking he'd made up Aziraphale's voice. The crowd continued to drive him up the stairs while he searched the bobbing heads below. 

"Crowley!" 

There, Aziraphale waved as the current carried him down the stairs in the opposite direction. 

Crowley clung to the railing, dug his heels in, but the grumbling tide was relentless. 

Aziraphale vanished. Crowley's grip on the railings loosened and he was carried up into the sunlight. 

He was about to charge back into the tube station when his phone pinged. 

_I'm coming back up! Stay where you are. Please!_

Hands shaking Crowley stepped back from the tube entrance. He leaned against a section of wall trying to look calm, but his jiggling foot betrayed him. He began to pace. He rubbed his damp palms on his jeans, then through his hair. 

What was taking so long?

His chest was tight, ribs constricting his thrashing heart. 

"Crowley!" 

Crowley whipped round. Aziraphale scurried towards him, dodging across the commuters piling in and out of the station. He looked frantic, desperate. His bag bounced against his hip, and he looked as though he was about to unravel at the seams. His coat was undone, flapping behind him and his bowtie was unravelling. 

"Aziraphale, was just coming to see you." Crowley pushed his shaking hands in his pockets. 

Aziraphale stuttered to a halt just in front of him. He clutched his bag to his stomach. "Me too. How funny. Is everything alright?" His smile was strained. 

Crowley felt balanced on the edge of a precipice. The dizzy blackness of the drop opening up just beyond the toes of his shoes. It wasn't funny. Nothing felt alright. Crowley was going to vibrate out of his skin at any moment. 

"Oh, yeah, course. I just…" Crowley licked his teeth. Made himself look at Aziraphale and not how far he had to fall. "Ana's mum has this flat she's looking to let out. Doing me a deal with regards to the garden, I just, seeing as we're both looking. Only one bedroom though, that's the thing." 

With every word Crowley forced off his tongue, Aziraphale's eyebrows had been lifting Now they were in danger of jumping off his forehead. His eyes were big and round. He gasped. 

"But I thought I could go back to her, ask for a two bed," Crowley babbled, hands imploring. "Seeing as we're mates." Not quite what he'd wanted to say, what he'd meant to say, but Aziraphale was there, looking at him all stupid tie and wide eyes that had been so bright and were now so sad. 

"Crowley…" Aziraphale began softly, and the fragile edge Crowley had been standing on began to crumble. 

"You're right. Terrible idea." Crowley looked away. 

"Will we still be friends? If we live together?" Aziraphale stepped forward, twisting the strap of his bag to breaking point. 

"Of course we will." Crowley made himself smile. He was so lucky to be counted as Aziraphale's friend, but if he didn't speak now then he'd have to hold his secret back forever. He'd have to live in the ghost of this moment forever. They couldn't be friends like that. If Crowley wanted to keep Aziraphale in his life, in any way, he needed to be honest and hoped they could survive it. "If you want to stay just friends that's fine." His voice broke a bit. "Whatever you want." Crowley shrugged, edging away as though he could leave his feelings behind too. 

Aziraphale gazed up at him, lips parted. His eyebrows finally dropping and colour touching his cheeks. Everything about him settled, softened, and his smile tugging the corner of his mouth was gentle as breath. "I want you." The colour on his cheeks darkened and he looked away quickly. 

Crowley's thoughts piled up in a tangle. His poor thrashing heart froze. Aziraphale reached out, his fingers a gentle pressure on Crowley's forearm, stopping his retreat like they were chains. "Lord, I want you so much." Aziraphale's voice was rough. He stepped forward, nearly going up on his toes as his eyes searched Crowley's face. "I meant friends as well. Friends, lovers, partners, all of it. One bedroom, actually. If you'd like?" 

Crowley clenched his teeth, but the ridiculous love child of a snort and a giggle still escaped him. He clapped a hand over his mouth. 

Aziraphale laughed, a completely joyous sound. Then he did go up on his toes, tugging Crowley's hand down so he could kiss him. Crowley clung on and kissed him back, still half laughing as an angry commuter's arm caught him in the back, jogging them forward. 

"You have a nice day too, sir!" Aziraphale called out and was flipped the finger in response. 

Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale's ear. Arms still tight around his waist, although he was on solid ground again now. "Can't win 'em all, angel."

"Oh!" Aziraphale cupped his face. "I learned a fascinating thing about spinal injuries a few weeks ago. May I show you?" 

"That's the most threatening seduction I've ever heard," Crowley's despair was rather ruined by the idiot grin he just knew was on his face. 

His only consolation was that Aziraphale wore on too. 

"But did it work?" Aziraphale fluttered his lashes. 

"It did. Come home with me? Bentley missed you."

**Two months later.**

They took the bags of shopping back to their flat on Friday night. It was quite high up in the building, but there was a lift. One that didn't smell of last night's urine at that. 

Aziraphale opened the door, having far easier access to his keys than Crowley, who had to perform aerobics to get anything out of his trouser pockets. 

Bentley guarded the hallway, a sure way to scare off unwelcome guests. And those that did make it past him would be met by the void-like judgement of Yorick on the living room windowsill. 

The books got everywhere. 

Crowley blamed Aziraphale, but he was the one who left journals stuffed in the sofa cushions when he got distracted by action movies on the television. Aziraphale didn't mind. He liked to know what his boyfriend was reading. 

And it made for some interesting pillow talk, if that was what they were in the mood for. 

That particular Friday night they weren't in the mood for talking. The shopping mostly got put away, at least all the chilled stuff went in the fridge. Aziraphale insisted on that while Crowley kissed his, hips rubbing insistently against him while he tried to make room for the eggs. 

They stumbled through the bedroom door, their bedroom door, giggling like idiots. Like newlyweds. The only downside was that, despite the well made walls, they really should keep the noise down now that they didn't actually want to annoy the neighbours. 

Aziraphale woke up on Saturday morning, still sleepy but content. Crowley had negotiated his way over to Aziraphale's side of the bed again making everything just the comfortable side of too hot. 

Plus, Aziraphale liked the possessive hand on his hip, the way Crowley's fingers drifted occasionally up or down, as though making sure Aziraphale was still there. 

Crowley's lids fluttered as Aziraphale shifted closer, leaving a delicate kiss on his nose. 

He rubbed the spot with his knuckles. "Hmmf."

"Good morning." Aziraphale kissed him again, on the lips, a bit less delicately.

"Is it?" Crowley's hand swept up Aziraphale's side. 

"Forecast looks good." Aziraphale pushed Crowley back into the pillows. He'd got more confident asking for what he wanted, and taking it too. 

He kissed Crowley's chest, nibbling the sensitive spots. He enjoyed the way Crowley squirmed, torn between arousal and ticklishness. Aziraphale's hands skimmed down to Crowley's hips, and Crowley spread his legs to make room for him to settle between them.

The covers had been pushed down during Aziraphale's descent and Crowley was exposed, ready for the taking. His cock was already half hard, growing red and eager beneath Aziraphale's inspection. He held Crowley's eyes as long as he could while lowering his head, and then licked along the length of it. Aziraphale was still a little stunned by how much Crowley wanted him, how quickly his cock grew fuller beneath Aziraphale's tongue. How it darkened and pushed against his cheek. 

Aziraphale curled his hand round the base, pumping him slowly, watching the bliss relax Crowley's face, his eyes half closed and lips parted. 

Aziraphale took Crowley's cock carefully in his mouth, relishing the smoothness of the skin, the salty morning musk of him. Crowley lifted off the bed, fingers tugging Aziraphale's hair. 

Aziraphale hummed, worked Crowley harder, cheeks hollowing and the weight of his own arousal heavy between his legs. 

Crowley bent forward, guiding Aziraphale's face up for a lingering kiss, deep and soft, despite the rasp of stubble. 

Everything was soft. The world rose tinted at the edges. Crowley pulled the covers back over them as he settled Aziraphale on his side, facing the window. 

Crowley's body fitted so well against him, chest to back, hips to backside. 

Aziraphale was still half open and ready from the night before, and Crowley entered him smooth and slow. Long, lazy strokes that had Aziraphale moaning in seconds. 

Crowley's own voice was ragged in his ear, his hands on Aziraphale's chest, his thighs. 

There was still no rush, and despite his pleas Aziraphale's own cock stayed neglected until right at the end. They thrust together, pleasure building in increments until they were both gasping. 

They came together, hot and sticky, thoroughly spent. 

Crowley stirred first, bestowing a trail of opened mouth kisses down Aziraphale's neck. "Hungry. You want to go out for breakfast?" 

Aziraphale stretched, luxuriating in contentment. He glanced at the clock. "You mean brunch?"

"Hmm. Whatever you fancy."

"What would you say to some crepes?" 

**Author's Note:**

> For the discerning reader [Fleas dressed as a mariachi band](https://www.nhm.ac.uk/our-science/collections/entomology-collections/siphonaptera-collections.html) scroll down to the bottom. Not a page for the faint of heart.
> 
> Hope the Whale and Guy the Gorilla are both famous exhibits at London's Natural History Museum. 
> 
> The BM is the British Museum. 
> 
> The latest research I can find about the spread of the Black Death was from 2017!


End file.
